


Till the Day I Die

by Janina



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cheating, Cunnilingus, Dark!Jon, Dark!Sansa, Dubious Consent, F/M, Heavy Angst, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Love Triangles, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Smut, past mentions of - gag - Jonerys, possessive!Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2018-12-17 14:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 41,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11853279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina
Summary: Jon and Sansa are wed before the final battle with the White Walkers. When Sansa learns that Jon had slept with Daenerys, she shuts him out and Jon does not handle it well. He'll do anything to make her love him again. When Dickon Tarly comes to Winterfell to visit his brother, Sansa wonders if she can find an escape from the home that has become her prison.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is me working out my anger at Jon at the moment...

**Prologue**

“It’s true then. I’m not a Stark,” Jon said hoarsely as he and Sansa stood before his mother’s statue in the crypts of Winterfell. 

“You are,” Sansa insisted. “Lyanna was your mother. You are half Stark.”

Jon looked up at her in anguish. “And half Targaryen.”

“That doesn’t matter. Not to me.”

Jon grabbed Sansa to him, nearly crushing him against her as tears fell from his gray eyes. “Do you remember what happened before I left Winterfell?” he whispered. 

How could she forget? She nodded, her head tucked under his chin. “I do.”

“We said we loved each other.”

“We did.”

“And we thought we were brother and sister then,” he murmured. “Sansa, sweet girl, look at me.”

Sansa pulled back and looked at him, her eyes shining with tears and hope. 

“We are cousins,” he said, and a look of joy spread across his features. “Do you know what this means? Sansa, we can wed. _We can wed_. I can make you my wife.”

Sansa nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. What had seemed so lost to her was not any longer. She and Jon could wed. They could be together in truth without the guilt of their relation to shame them. 

This man, her cousin, whom she had fled to for safety after her marriage to Ramsay, this man who had fought for her to get Winterfell back from the Boltons. This man had restored her faith in men. He listened to her. He trusted her counsel. He had entrusted her with Winterfell when he sought help from the Dragon Queen against the White Walkers. 

How could she not love him with her whole heart? 

She had from the start. From the moment they were reunited at Castle Black, Sansa had started to love him in ways a sister should not love a brother. 

Their relationship had grown, they’d gotten closer and closer…not a night went by when they didn’t end it in front of a roaring fire talking about their childhood, their lost family, and making plans to restore Winterfell to greatness once again. 

They shared everything that had happened to them on those nights, too. And they had found comfort in one another. They were no longer alone. They had each other. 

Their love had grown until it had become a thing neither could deny any longer, and when Jon had told her in the Godswood that he was leaving Winterfell to seek aid from the Dragon Queen, she had begged him to stay. 

_“I cannot,” he told her. “I need to do this Sansa. I need to protect us from what is to come.”_

_“You can do that from here!”_

_“I need more! I need dragon glass, I need her bloody dragons. I need whatever it takes to defeat The Night King.”_

_Sansa didn’t bother to check the tears that flowed freely. “I am afraid for you. For what she’ll do. The Targaryens have not been kind to our family.”_

_Jon drew her into his arms and held onto her tightly. “Sansa, I will be safe. I promise I will come back to you.”_

_“You can’t promise such a thing,” she said mournfully._

_He pulled back, and lifted her chin to make her look at him. His gray eyes pierced right through her, his expression at once grim and resolute. “I will come back to you, and do you know why?”_

_She shook her head._

_“Because I love you. I love you so much I can barely stand it – Seven Hells, Sansa, I would do anything to keep you safe.” His full lips spread into a soft smile as he leaned in closer to her shocked face. “You are so precious to me, sweet girl.”_

_Sansa erupted into joyous laughter. Jon had just expressed just what she felt for him. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “I love you so much, Jon, and I have for so long.”_

_He kissed her then, long and hard and deep. They clung to each other under the Weirwood and promised that come what may, they would find a way to be together._

And now, now they would be. 

“Today,” Jon rasped. “I want to wed you today.”

Sansa looked at him, startled. “Today?”

He nodded adamantly. “Sansa, I face The Night King tomorrow. We have this day before Daenerys returns with her remaining dragons and we go to war once again. I want this night with you as my wife.” He looked at her beseechingly and placed a hand on her belly. “Should something to happen to me…I want to know that if I left you with a babe, it would be legitimate.”

She blushed and leaned up to kiss him. “Let us marry then,” she whispered, smiling. “Today.”

**Chapter One**

Queen Sansa Stark stood when it appeared the meeting with the Northern Lords had finished. Her husband, King Jon Stark gripped her wrist and she looked down at him. “What is it, Your Grace?” she asked politely.

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t fucking call me that,” he hissed. 

She gave into the pressure of his hand and sat back down beside him. “What is it, Jon?”

His steely gray eyes softened a fraction as he looked at her. “Where are you going now, my love?” he asked, his grip loosening. 

“I thought I would see to the arrangements for Lord Dickon’s visit. I have his rooms being readied, I would like to see how it is going.”

Jon nodded slowly. “I’ll allow it. What will you do after that?”

“Perhaps visit the Godswood.”

He frowned. “Not without me.”

“You have matters to attend to, Jon. You do not need to join me at the Godswood.”

His full lips quirked up into a smile. “What if I want to?”

“If it pleases you.”

His expression darkened again. “Do not, Sansa, do not say it like that.”

“How did I say it?” she asked, feigning innocence. 

“As if you are just pacifying me,” he growled. 

“What is it you would like from me, Jon?” she asked patiently. 

“Tell me you want me to accompany you,” he hissed and gripped her wrist tight again. He drew her closer, paying no mind to the Lords who still mingled about. He looked as if he meant to kiss her. 

Sansa darted a glance at the Northerners and tried to draw away from him. He just pulled her closer. “Jon, please,” she murmured. “You must calm yourself while we are not alone.”

“Tell me you want my company, Sansa,” he demanded, staring at her mouth. “Tell me you want your husband with you.”

“I always wish for your company, Jon,” she lied. “I just do not wish to distract you from your duties.”

“You are my first duty,” he rasped, his grip loosening again. 

“Of course.”

“Come retrieve me before you go to the Godswood.”

“Yes, Jon.”

He let her go slowly, staring at her as his grip loosened by degrees. Sansa held herself back from running across the room to get as far away from Jon as she could, and she could feel the weight of his stare the whole way. 

She heaved a sigh of relief on the other side of the door to the Great Hall. She was free for a little while from his suffocating presence. 

She remembered a time when all she wanted was to be wherever Jon was. It made her heart ache to remember that time. In some ways it was as though it was only yesterday she felt that love for him. 

But with it came the memory of how he had destroyed her trust and mangled her love for him. 

It had all come out while the battle had been waging. She’d been inside Winterfell in a time reminiscent of the Battle of Black Water with the servants and ladies of the North. Missandei had broken down in tears and confessed that she was worried for Daenerys for Daenerys was with child. Jon’s child. She had then gone on to tell her how Daenerys was in love with Jon and hoped to wed him. Daenerys had wanted to rule on the Iron Throne with Jon by her side now that Cersei Lannister had been killed by Jaime Lannister. 

Jon had bent the knee, Missandei said.

She remembered feeling as though she was back in that river she and Theon had walked across to escape from Ramsay’s hounds. A coldness had fallen over her. Her heart had dropped on the stone at her feet. She had gotten up, almost staggering, and had managed to get outside before she had tossed up her accounts. 

Then she had fallen back, landing in a bank of snow and sobbed. After everything they had been through. After the hope they’d shared this morning that with the defeat of Cersei there would be peace on the land. He had not told her that he’d bent the knee to Daenerys. That he’d fucked her. That she was with child. Did he even know? Did he even care? Why had he said nothing? Did he not think he would make it? Did he think they would all die and in the end it wouldn’t matter?

She feared for him and his life. She hated him. She wanted him to live. She wanted to die. She wanted _him_ to die – she sobbed at the thought of it and took it all back. She wanted him to live, but she wanted him to suffer…to feel the pain wrenching through her. How could she want such a thing while he battled for Winterfell, for their lives?

How could he lie to her? How could he keep such things from her? He’d betrayed her. He’d made promises to a foreign Queen. A Targaryen no less. He’d betrayed the North, their people…her. 

Her tears felt like ice upon her cheeks.

Ice. 

She was ice. 

When Jon had come back, hurt, and told her that Arya had perished in the fight, she had fallen to pieces. Daenerys had died too, and Sansa had been ashamed when she’d actually thought, _Good_. Tormund, Edd, and Sandor had all perished as well. Brienne and Jaime had survived. 

Jon had fallen into a deep sleep after the battle, his wounds making him weak, and had slept for days on end. As he’d slept on, Bran had died in his sleep. 

Sansa had sat at Jon’s bedside mourning her sister, her brother, and her marriage. 

When Jon had finally awoken, he grabbed her hand and squeezed. His eyes held the horrors of war as he gazed at her, looking almost pleadingly at her. “I was so afraid I’d never see you again.”

She slipped her hand from his, stood, and looked down at him coldly. “Arya is in the crypts. As is Bran.”

Jon’s eyes went wide. “Bran?”

“He’s gone. He passed the day after you returned.”

Jon started to cry and reached for her. “Sansa—”

“Missandei, Jaime, Tyrion and Varys have departed. Brienne, for now, is staying here with me. I imagine Jaime will return at some point.”

“Sansa, sit with me. Why are you so far away?”

Ice. 

She was Ice. 

“I know what you did,” she said flatly. “I know about Daenerys. I know about her having been with child. Your child.”

He looked shocked. And scared. “No, she wasn’t—”

“She was. Your child is dead. I also know how you bent the knee.”

“I didn’t, Sansa. I was hurt, I was in bed injured—”

“Not injured enough apparently.”

She watched him struggle to sit up. Saw the pain etched on his face. Saw how he turned red and started to sweat as he attempted to climb out of bed to get to her. 

She simply moved out of reach. He was hurt. He couldn’t move quickly. Or at all, really. 

When he fell to the floor in a heap, begging her for help and to listen, she stepped around him and left the room. She sent servants in to help him back to bed and retreated to her new bedchamber on the other side of the castle and locked the door. 

She stayed there for days. When Jon was strong enough, he’d come to her, pounding on her door and begging to be let in. 

He’d sobbed at her door, telling her how he had been tricking Daenerys the whole time, how he hadn’t actually bent the knee, and how he’d only used her to get her dragons. He said she’d been the one to come to him with the intent to sleep with him and he’d done it for fear she would refuse to help him if he didn’t. 

He slept outside her door. He cried until he was hoarse. 

On the fourth day, he’d knocked her door down. 

His eyes had been wild. He had looked like a wild thing, something untamed and reckless. When he’d reached for her, she’s scratched him and screamed at him to not touch her. 

He had grabbed her then, yanked her to him. “You are my wife!” he shouted. 

“In name only,” she hissed. 

He shook his head. “No. No.”

“I’ll not share a bed with you. I’ll not share anything but the North with you, _Your Grace_. The North _you_ nearly lost. The North _you_ betrayed.”

He tried to kiss her and she bit him. She broke free of him and slapped him. “I do not love you any longer,” she growled. “You’ve killed my love.”

He grabbed her and shook her. “You still love me. I know you do.”

“No.”

He’d let her go then and for days they stayed away from each other. 

But when he came back for her, he had found her at her most vulnerable, her heart shredded, her confidence shattered. She wept for so many things then, and they all melded together. 

He had held her, kissed her, and she let him love her. It had been desperate and frantic, Jon holding her so tight in his arms she could scarce breathe. He begged her to love him, to say it, and he wouldn’t stop begging until she said it so she did, just to make him stop. 

Later, after he’d spent inside her and held her tight against him in her bed, she had felt dirty and wrong, and had tried to distance herself from him after that. 

He wouldn’t let her. 

And so a new game had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I honestly didn't think this fic would be received quite so well! Thank you so much!

“Sam! What are you doing up here?” Sansa asked with a smile as she approached the bedchamber in which Dickon would be staying. 

Sam looked a bit lost as he watched the servants rushing to and fro, bringing in fresh linens and furs. “I just wanted to see where my brother would be staying,” he said and scratched the back of his neck. 

“I figured away from the hustle and bustle of the castle would be best.” It was in this part of the castle that Sansa would retreat to when Jon became too much. Not that he let her retreat for very long. It took some doing for him to give her one night alone. She could count on one hand how often that happened after almost a year of marriage.

“You look nervous. Are you well, Sam?” Sansa asked with her head tilted to the side. 

Sam nodded. “I am. I suppose I am a bit nervous as you said…I didn’t know my brother well before I left for the Night’s Watch, and it my father had always made it clear how that he preferred Dickon over me. I suppose I wonder how we’ll greet each other now.”

“Well, he was the one to reach out to you so I would imagine he wants to get to know you now. Now that it is just you and he left…” She frowned and reached out, touching Sam’s arm gently. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Don’t be sorry, Sansa,” Sam said softly. “I always wished for my father’s love, but I never got it. I can’t say I miss him. And I am most certainly not the man he wanted for a son.”

“His loss,” Sansa said simply. “I find you wonderful.”

Sam smiled broadly and blushed. “Thank you, Sansa.” 

“I’ll make sure your brother’s accommodations are fit for a king.”

Sam beamed at her, thanked her again, and was off, a looking much happier and at ease than when she’d approached. 

For the next two hours, Sansa saw to making sure everything was in place and readied.  
Blissfully, this was all done without the stifling presence of Jon. It was unlike him to not check on her every hour they were parted, so he must have had other matters come up that needed tending. That was fine with Sansa. It was a reprieve greatly appreciated and much needed. 

After Dickon’s rooms were prepared, Sansa hurried to the Lord’s Chambers to retrieve her cloak and gloves. She had just pulled it down from the hook on the wall when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. Familiar footsteps. 

No. Gods, no. She had been so close…

Gods, she missed Brienne. Why had she allowed her to leave when Jaime sent a raven requiring her assistance? Considering how Jaime looked at Brienne, and Brienne at Jaime, Sansa guessed she knew exactly what sort of "assistance" he required.

“Sansa?” Jon said as he pushed their door open. 

Sansa folded her cloak over her arm and held it against her like a shield. 

Jon smiled, his gray eyes crinkling at the sides as he shut the door behind him. Sansa averted her eyes. It sometimes hurt her heart when he smiled. 

“Were you coming to get me after you retrieved your cloak?” he asked, nodding to her. 

“Of course,” she murmured. 

“Are you lying to me?”

“Why would I do such a thing?” she drawled lifting her chin and looking at him defiantly. 

He sighed, his eyes flashing with temper. “You’re trying my patience today, Sansa.”

“Just today?”

His jaw clenched tight and he reached out his hand. “Come here.”

“For what?”

“Sansa,” he said, his voice rising. “I asked you to come to me.”

Eyes blazing, Sansa walked towards him, placing her cloak on the bed along the way. When she was within reach, Jon grabbed her to him and wrapped his arms around her. He pressed his face to the side of hers. “Why do you deny me?”

“You were busy; I didn’t wish to disturb you.”

“Horseshit. You were going to sneak out without me.” He leaned back and framed her face with his hands. “Didn’t you miss me?” He looked desperate now. “I missed you.”

“We weren’t separated for that long, Jon,” she said reasonably. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered and kissed her passionately. He left her breathless and she hated him for it. “I miss you every time you’re apart from me,” he said, panting, “and I don’t like it when you’re not close by.”

“Do you wish for me to follow you about all day?” she asked with mocking laugh. 

“Yes,” he hissed. He then spun her around and she felt him tugging at the laces of her dress. 

“Jon, the Godswood—”

“I’ve need of you now,” he said. “I can’t wait.”

When her laces were undone, he pushed the top of her dress roughly to the sides and leaned in, pressing kisses first to her neck and then down her spine. “Finish undressing,” he rasped, and Sansa heard the rustle of him starting to pull at his own clothing. 

Slowly, reluctantly, Sansa began to undress. She hated the ache in her cunt and the quickening of her pulse. Why did her body betray her so and how did she stop it? 

She had just stepped out of her dress, when Jon pulled her against him by her hips and ground himself against her arse. He then spun her around and then lifted her up, all but tossing her on the bed. He was fully naked, his cock was dripping, and he looked positively feral. He reminded her of how Ghost looked on the hunt. 

Jon ran his eyes over her, his nostrils flaring. He licked his lips. Sansa wanted to shield herself from him – not that he would ever allow such a thing. 

In one quick motion he ripped her smallclothes off and she cried out in surprise, though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as though this was the first time he’d done it. 

“Gods, look at you. You’re so beautiful, my sweet girl,” he whispered. “Move back further.” 

Resigned, Sansa did as he asked, knowing what he was about to do. The pulse in her cunt told her he would make it good for her. He would make her peak and she would try to fight it as she did every time.

He climbed onto the bed and her breath hitched. She was his prey. 

He grinned and spread her legs. He lay down on his stomach and held her hips as he feasted on her cunt. 

Sansa felt her face heat and she turned her head away and shut her eyes tight. _Don’t peak_ , she thought. _Don’t peak. Don’t give him what he wants. Don’t feel…_

His tongue licked and laved, teased and probed. He sucked her nub in his mouth, he swiped and circled and then her hips were lifting and she was crying out, grabbing at the furs. And still he kept on until she was sobbing for him to stop. 

He lifted his head, his beard wet, and his gray eyes glinting in the light that streamed through the windows. He looked smug and she wanted to kick him. He crawled over her, placed himself at her entrance and pushed in. His eyes fluttered shut and he moaned, “Sansa.” He pressed down on top of her, caging her in with his arms so that all she could see was him. 

She felt his hot breath on her face and she shut her eyes. 

“No,” he rasped. “Look at me, Sansa.”

“No,” she gasped. 

He kissed her instead. Hard and deep as he stroked inside her again and again. She kept her hands curled around the furs. 

“Touch me,” he growled. “Put your hands on me.”

“No,” she said defiantly. 

With a growl he lifted up, kneeling now between her legs and grabbed her wrists. He yanked them away from the furs and placed them on his chest. He held her hands there, his covering hers to keep them in place. His eyes flashed with lust and anger. “I want you touching me,” he commanded. “I always want your touch, do you understand me?”

She didn’t answer. He fucked her harder. 

His eyes bore into her as his cock pounded inside her. “You belong to me, Sansa. You’re mine. My wife. My love. My world.” 

She bit her lip until it bled but it was no use. She peaked. She cried out and Jon bent over and sucked her lip in his mouth, sucking the blood out. “Mine,” he grunted. “Mine.”

He slammed inside her and came with a roar. He collapsed against her.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “I love you so much, my sweet girl.” He lifted his head and gazed down at her, his eyes bright with love now. “Tell me you love me, Sansa. Tell me you love me as much as I love you.”

She pushed at him. “Get off of me.”

“No,” he said through clenched teeth. “Tell me you love me, dammit. Tell me you want me. Tell me that you love fucking me, that you’re mine. Say it, damn you. I know you feel it!”

“Get off me!” she shouted in his face. 

He rolled off of her, but didn’t let her go. He gathered her into him, cradling the back of her head with one hand and pulling her leg over his thigh with the other. “Sssshhh,” he hushed, his voice now gentle and soothing. “It’s all right, it’s all right, my love. You’re tired. I know how hard you work for the good of Winterfell and the North. You just need some rest is all…”

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to cry in front of him. 

She hated how he never let her be. 

How he made love to her. 

How her body betrayed her. 

How he demanded so much and wouldn’t ever let up. 

She hated him. Hated him so much her heart ached and her skin felt tight. 

He kissed her chin, her cheek, the tip of her nose, her forehead and then her lips. He was hardening again. He pushed her onto her back and slipped inside her. “I love you,” he gasped. 

And it started all over again. 

xxxxxxxxxx

Dickon Tarly rode past the gates with a nod to the guards who let him pass. It was not quite dusk yet, but close. He hadn’t planned to arrive so late to Winterfell, but the trek had been a stormy one – quite literally. A passing storm had kept him from going further and then the mud had slowed his carriage which held what he needed for an extended stay at Winterfell. 

“Dickon!”

Dickon looked up, recognizing his brother’s voice and attempted to ascertain where he was. Dickon smiled when he saw Sam running his way. He then grimaced when Sam slipped on a patch of mud and fell backwards. 

“Sam!” shouted a feminine voice full of concern. 

Dickon dismounted quickly and hurried over to his brother just as a woman with long red hair came rushing over. 

“Sansa!” called a bearded man urgently from behind her. He looked worried as he watched the redhead and rushed forward after her. 

Sansa. Queen Sansa of the North. She knelt beside Sam. “Are you all right, Sam?” she asked. 

Sam nodded, looking sheepish. “Just feel a bit of a fool is all.”  
Dickon came over, grinning down at his brother. He held out his hand and Sam took it with a smile. 

The man that had run after the Queen came up behind her and helped her to her feet as Dickon helped Sam, though it appeared she did not wish his help. Was this King Jon of the North?

He’d heard stories about the King and Queen of the North. How the King had been thought a bastard until just last year when it was revealed he was half Stark and half Targaryen. He’d married his cousin, Sansa, much to the wariness of the Northerners. She was the one who made them accept him, but the stories Dickon heard, their marriage was…odd. 

It was rumored that King Jon was obsessed with his wife. He never let her out of his sight, and he breathed dragon fire on any man that came too near her. 

Now the Queen in the North turned her attention to Dickon who belatedly bent the knee. She laughed. “Please stand, Lord Dickon. Sam is like family to us, and any part of his family is part of ours.”

Dickon stood and looked down at her. “Your Grace—”

“Sansa,” she said. “You may call me Sansa.”

Looking at her now, fully, Dickon wondered if he’d ever seen a woman so beautiful. Her blue eyes were bright with humor, though admittedly she did look a bit tired. She wore a blue dress that contained her slender form, and her pink lips were curved into a smile. She appeared so fragile…but having heard the stories of Queen Sansa and all that she’d endured, he knew she was the very opposite. 

King Jon came up beside her and slipped his hand into hers. He nodded to Dickon. “Good evening. Long trip?”

Dickon looked at Sam for direction and then at Sansa – should he bend the knee or not? He started to when King Jon stopped him by holding his hand up. 

“No, do not bother. You may call me Jon.”

“And this is Dickon!” Sam said happily and they all laughed. 

“Come, let’s go inside,” Sansa said. “Sam can show you to your room, and we’ll have supper.”

Jon and Sansa led the way to the castle and Dickon fell into step beside his brother. They grinned at each other and Dickon looked forward, watching the way Jon gripped Sansa’s hand as though he never meant to let go.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam was nervous. Dickon could tell by the way he rambled on about Gilly, his son, and his duties as the Maester of Winterfell. Dickon didn’t mind though, for he was a bit nervous as well. Nervous and, he supposed, ashamed. His father had pitted the two against each other though Dickon had never felt animosity towards Sam though their father seemed to expect him to. 

It was no secret that he was favored. An often hard weight to bear considering he didn’t always agree with his father. Randyll Tarly didn’t like anyone to have opinions other than his own, and Dickon learned early to keep his to himself. His father often took silence to mean agreement. He regretted those decisions now because silence meant that Sam bore the brunt of their father’s ill-temper. 

“I should have defended you,” Dickon blurted out. 

Sam stopped abruptly in the middle of a lit hall and Dickon stopped to look at him. Sam’s brow was furrowed and he tilted his head to the side. “Pardon?”

Dickon sighed. He gestured to his brother. “I should have defended you. Against father.”

Sam cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. 

“I went along with Father because it was easier,” Dickon said. “It didn’t make it right. And it didn’t mean I agreed with him. I didn’t. I never thought you less, Sam. I always thought you smarter than all of us.”

Sam smiled and laughed nervously. “Thank you, Dickon.”

“I know we never got the chance to know each other before,” Dickon said. “But that’s why I came. I want to get to know you, brother. After the dragons wiped out our family…” He trailed off, not liking to think of how his family had been burned by Daenerys Targaryen when she’d sought to lay waste to those she deemed traitors. 

“I might have been separated from the family… pushed out, really, but I still mourned them,” Sam said softly. “How are the repairs on our home?”

Dickon sighed. “They’re going well. It’s just taking more time than I’d like I suppose. It’s quiet there, and I often find myself rather lonely.”

“Gilly and Sam and I will have to visit you,” Sam said with a smile and began down the hall again. Dickon followed, feeling a bit more at ease now. Sam seemed more at ease as well, which pleased him. 

“Here is your room,” Sam said as he pushed a door open. 

Dickon stepped inside and whistled. It was a large room, clean, and dimly lit from the sconces on the wall. The room held a fireplace adjacent to the rather large bed piled high with furs, a trestle table and chairs tucked off to the side, and a chest next to several hooks for him to hang his clothing. The room smelled of cedar and bergamot, and colorful tapestries of hunting scenes and lush valleys adorned the walls. His room at home contained the scent of ash that he just couldn’t seem to get rid of. 

This was better. Much better. 

“Sansa worked very hard to make sure you were comfortable,” Sam told him.

“She succeeded,” Dickon said. There was a knock at the door and he opened it, letting in his servants who were carrying his things from the carriage inside. 

“Sansa is a wonderful Queen,” Sam gushed. “She is thoughtful and kind, and always has a smile for me and Gilly and Sam. She dotes on him, really, always bringing him toys and treats.”

“She seems rather kind from the way she rushed to your aid,” Dickon said. He cocked his head to the side. “And the King seemed a bit...” What was the right word for his first impression of the King? Overbearing when it came to the Queen? Broody? 

“Jon is a good King,” Sam said, and it sounded to Dickon much like some of the soldiers he had fought beside – not wanting to disparage their sovereign despite how they may feel about certain actions. He said it as if by rote. 

“I do not doubt that, despite the fact that he’s half Targaryen. It’s because of you I give him a chance. Well, and because of what he did to save us all from the White Walkers. But he has Targaryen blood in his veins and that makes me uneasy.”

Sam smiled at the servants as they retreated from the room and then he looked at Dickon in all seriousness. “Jon has been through a lot with the Night’s Watch, the war between the Queens, and the fight against the White Walkers. Learning of his parentage took its toll as well. It all changed him.”

“Are the rumors true then?”

Sam frowned. “Rumors?”

“The rumors that he is obsessed with his Queen and breathes dragon fire at any man who draws too near her.”

Sam looked down and shifted on his feet again. Dickon realized then that he’d hit upon something. King Jon might not breathe actual dragon fire, but the rest…well, the rest might just be true. 

“Jon loves Sansa with his whole heart,” Sam said slowly. “As I said, he changed after the final battle with the White Walkers.”

“Sam, is their marriage an unhappy one?”

“I cannot say…but I will say this…”

“I’m listening.”

“Sansa is a beautiful woman, but it’s wise not to linger too long on her beauty. Do not speak too long with her, and do not ask her to dance. All her dances belong to Jon.”

“The rumors are true then,” Dickon murmured. “Does he….hurt her?”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “No! Of course not. Jon would never strike, Sansa, never.”

“There are other ways to hurt a woman that doesn’t involve striking them, Sam.”

“Jon would never,” Sam said resolutely. Yet Dickon got the sense that either Sam was hiding something from him, or he wasn’t sure about that himself. “Just keep to me and to yourself, and you’ll be fine.” 

Dickon nodded slowly. “Very well then.”

“I’ll leave you to change,” Sam said. “I have to as well. I’m sure Gilly will tease me endlessly for falling in the mud! I’ll see you at supper.”

He left with a grin and a small wave, leaving Dickon to change and contemplate the mystery that was the King and Queen’s marriage. 

xxxxxxxxxx

“I do think in the interest of appearing normal for our guest, you should at least sit at head of the table,” Sansa told Jon as she looked over the placement in their seating for supper in the Great Hall. 

“No, you’ll sit beside me as always,” Jon said, watching her tweak the dinnerware to her liking. Such a perfectionist, his wife. He moved closer to her, the need to touch her strong in him. He placed his hand upon her shoulder and squeezed. “Sansa—”

She moved away from him, his hand slipping off her shoulder. She continued her tweaking, acting as though she hadn’t just denied him the comfort of touching her. His temper sparked and his despair swelled. 

He hated it when she refused to let him touch her, hated it more when she wouldn’t touch him unless he asked her to…begged her to. 

Would the ache in his chest ever cease? Would there ever be a moment when he could breathe properly again? He had felt as though he was drowning ever since she told him he had killed her love. 

He needed it. He had to have it. He couldn’t live without Sansa. He couldn’t live without her love. She was the only thing that kept him together, and he was barely together with what little scraps she threw his way. 

Scraps he had to demand from her. 

If she meant for him to die, then she was killing him slowly. Did she know that? Would she care?

He wanted to crawl inside her head and learn her thoughts. He wanted to know how to turn them back to loving him. He knew she had to. Her body responded to him. She cried when he held her and he just wished she’d stop fighting what she felt… 

He reached out and took hold of her arm. He drew her close despite her murmured protests and tried to smile. He framed her face, her beautiful face, in his hands and gazed at her, letting her see how she undid him, and how he loved her. 

“Is there something you wanted, Jon?” she asked primly, looking somewhere past him and not directly at him.

“Aye,” he said hoarsely. “You. I always want you, my Queen.”

“You’ve already had me.”

He laughed softly. “You think that’s enough to sate me?”

The clearing of someone’s throat had Jon sighing as he loosened his hold on Sansa and let her go. He immediately wanted her back. He wanted to steal her away to their bedchamber so they could have dinner alone. Then he wanted to undress his wife slowly and kiss every patch of skin revealed to his gaze. 

He wanted to drink from her cunt. 

He wanted his cock inside her, connecting him to her. 

He wanted his seed deep inside her, taking root. 

She drank moon tea. He knew she had to be. But as of yet he had been unable to catch her doing it. When he found out who gave it to her they would be severely punished. And when he found where she kept it hidden, he would destroy it and fuck her until she gave him a babe. 

“Sam! Dickon! Gilly! Come in, come in,” Sansa said happily. 

She never spoke to him that way, Jon thought moodily. Once she had. She had laughed with him. Let him touch her, kiss her, and looked at him with love in her eyes. 

He wanted that back so badly he could choke on it. 

He half-listened to Sansa direct them to their seats, and then Jon pulled her gently with him to theirs, and the servants began to deliver their food. 

For a while, silence fell upon the table as they all ate and Jon placed his hand upon Sansa's knee, eating with one hand only. 

“I hope your room is to your liking, Lord Dickon,” Sansa said.

Dickon smiled at her, his brown eyes warming as he looked at Sansa. “Sam tells me I have you to thank for the accommodations. They exceed my greatest expectations. And please, do not call me Lord Dickon. If you do, I’ll have to start calling you ‘Your Grace’.”

Sansa laughed and Jon narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like other men making her laugh. Especially strong handsome men. A man like Dickon with his short sandy blond hair and tall muscular build would have made Sansa’s head turn when she was younger. 

He had thought Joffrey Lannister had cured her of blondes. 

“You served under the Lannisters, Dickon, did you not?” Jon asked. 

“I did, for a time. Under the request of my father,” Dickon replied. 

“Mmmm… the Lannisters were of no friend to our family,” Jon said. 

“You liked Tyrion,” Sansa reminded him. “And Jaime was a great help to us.”

“Not when you were in Kings Landing,” Jon said, holding back his temper. 

“Mmm, yes, that is true,” she murmured. 

“With all due respect, Jon,” Dickon said, “Sometimes one has no choice which side of the fight they’re on. Sometimes it’s chosen for you.”

Jon wanted to tell him he no longer gave him leave to call him by his name. 

Sam jumped in then. “Sansa, Little Sam is really enjoying the toy horse you brought him the other day.”

Sansa beamed at Sam and Jon found himself hating his friend for it. He never got that smile anymore. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. 

No. That was a lie. He could remember. 

Their wedding day. 

And the morning after their wedding day was the last time she had told him she loved him. 

Jon wasn’t hungry any longer, not for food anyway. He wanted time alone with Sansa now. He was starting to feel as though he would crawl out of his skin if he didn’t get her alone soon.

“I have another toy to bring him if I could bring it by tomorrow, Gilly?” Sansa asked. 

Dickon frowned. “I failed to bring a gift for Little Sam,” he said a bit sadly. “I am sorry, Sam, Gilly.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, you can take the toy I have to him!” Sansa offered. 

“I couldn’t possibly—”

“Nonsense. You are his uncle. He’ll warm to you immediately with a toy in hand,” Sansa told him. 

Dickon smiled warmly at her again. “Thank you, Sansa.”

Jon had had enough. He didn’t like the way Dickon looked at his wife, and he didn’t like the way his wife was so _fucking_ friendly to Dickon. 

“My love, are you just about done?” Jon asked quietly. 

Sansa looked at him, brows furrowed. “I haven’t had dessert yet.”

“I’ll have the lemon cakes sent up to our room,” he said and stood.

“Done already, Jon?” Sam asked jovially. 

Jon nodded and smiled at his friend. “We’re both a little weary this evening, and I think eating so late has caused us to grow even wearier.”

“Again, I do apologize—” Dickon started, but Jon held up his hand, cutting him off. 

“It’s no trouble. We’ll see you on the morrow.” He drew Sansa up from her seat and practically dragged her from the Hall.

He walked quickly up the stairs to their bedchamber, and Sansa was practically running to keep up with him. Finally, she dug in her heels and yanked her arm free of his grasp. She was panting as she looked at him, and the spark of temper in her eyes and the heaving of her chest aroused him.

Everything she did aroused him. 

“What are you about? That was rude, Jon, to leave our guests like that!”

“We are the King and Queen. We do as we please.”

“I was enjoying myself!”

“Aye, I know you were!” Jon exclaimed. “You were enjoying the attentions of that milksop!”

“I was being friendly!”

He grabbed her to him and hissed, “You need a reminder of who you belong to, Sansa.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I belong to no one. Least of all you.”

Jon grabbed her again and dragged her down the hall. 

He wouldn’t give her a moment’s rest tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

Jon’s eyes were soft with love as he gazed up on Sansa as she slept on. Shafts of morning light beamed into their chamber from the cracks of the closed window pane. The fire he’d was burning out, and he had given orders to their servants that the King and Queen were not to be disturbed that morning. 

It was warm under the furs and Jon pulled them up tighter against Sansa and then slid his hand into her hair that spilled across her shoulder. He fingered the silky strands, thinking how he liked to bury his face in it and inhale the rose scent in contained. 

Mornings like this were Jon’s favorite moments with Sansa. When she was in repose like this she didn’t fight him. And even when she awoke, those first few minutes until she was fully awake, she allowed him to hold her and kiss her. She didn’t close herself off from him, but rather sank into his embrace, boneless and warm and his. All his.

Moving closer, but careful not to wake her, Jon wrapped an arm around her and whispered, “I love you.”

xxxxxxxxx

Sansa was drowsy and yet awake enough to know that Jon was awake and watching her. She could feel the weight of his stare upon her and even like this when he was not demanded her attention and her love, he was begging for it. 

He was always begging for it. 

She thought she should open her eyes, get up and start the day, but it was warm under the furs and her body ached. Jon had reminded her several times over who she belonged to. And even as she fell into sleep, he was there, holding her against him, every inch of his front pressed to her back with his lips on her neck. 

She felt his legs tangle with hers. She felt his hand in her hair and his breath upon her face. 

Their wedding night was her first experience sharing a bed with a man who didn’t wish to hurt her and make her scream in pain. 

Jon had been so gentle with her that night. He’d played her maid and undressed her slowly, kissing her skin and making it tingle and hum and want. 

He had let her explore him, run her fingers along the hard contours and ridges of his skin and scars. She had kissed those scars. Every single one of them. And he had done the same to hers. 

He’d made her cry out with his mouth on her cunt. He’d drank from her until she didn’t think there was anything left of her to give. But she had been wrong. So so wrong.

When he’d slipped inside her, she felt everything fall into place for the first time. She remembered thinking – _This is where I am meant to be. This is where I have been heading all this time. With this man. With my love. With Jon._

She had thought that she couldn’t have been happier than she was in that moment. She also remembered thinking that surely the Gods would punish her for being so happy. At the time, she had worried he would die in battle. She had sobbed in his arms that morning.

Later, she would feel as though she had been the one killed. 

“Do you dream of me I wonder?” Jon whispered. 

She did. 

“If you do, what are they about?”

Her dreams were sometimes bitter. Sometimes sweet. 

“I want to crawl into your head. Burrow under your skin. Be the air that you breathe. Be your bones and your blood.”

His words hurt her heart. 

She stirred, moving her legs, giving him fair warning that she was about to move away from him. When she rolled onto her back, he followed, pressing himself against her side and she could feel his hard cock against her hip.

How could he possibly want more? 

His hand slid to the side of her face and he turned her head toward him. He smiled as she blinked up at him, blinded by how beautiful her husband was. 

“Good morning, sweet girl,” he murmured. 

“Is it very late?” she asked. 

“It doesn’t matter. Everyone can wait.”

She pushed away from him got up before he could stop her. 

“Sansa,” he sighed dejectedly. 

She grabbed her robe off the hook on the wall and wrapped it around her. She knew he hated it when she covered her body from his eyes. “It is rude to lie-about while we have a guest. Besides, I’m hungry. Would you like a bath? I think I’ll have one in my chambers.”

“These are your chambers,” he growled. 

“Be that as it may, we both have duties, and we’ll get to them quicker if we prepare for the day separately.” She grabbed her dress from the floor, not bothering with her tattered small clothes and ducked behind the dressing screen to quickly slip on her dress before making her way to her chambers. She needed a hot bath for her sore muscles. 

When she had her dress on but not laced, she slipped her cloak on and hung her robe up on a hook. She stepped out from behind the screen and found Jon sitting against the headboard looking right at her. He looked sad and despondent and she ignored the guilt and the wish that things were different. 

She wished he hadn’t wed her. 

She wished he hadn’t fucked Daenerys Targaryen and conceived a child with her. 

She wished her heart would heal. 

She wished that he would let it. 

She wished she didn’t gain satisfaction from denying him what he wanted most. 

“I’ll send the servants up with a bath,” she told him and swept from the room. 

xxxxxxxxx

There were dark circles under Sansa’s eyes when she met Dickon in front of Sam and Gilly’s door. She held up a wooden duck on wheels and smiled. “The toy for Little Sam as promised.”

Despite the smile on her face, Dickon could see sadness in her eyes. He wanted to ask if Jon had harmed her the night before. Sam had been adamant about the fact that Jon did not strike Sansa, but he wondered about that. Jon’s behavior the night before had the edge of dangerous to it. He had been worried for Sansa, and with the way Gilly had laid into Sam after, she hadn’t liked it either. 

_“Why don’t you talk to him?” Gilly hissed once Jon and Sansa had left the Hall._

_“You think I haven’t tried?” Sam said. “We’ve been over this, Gilly.”_

_“He’s like Little Sam with Barth.”_

_Dickon frowned. “Pardon?”_

_Sam looked apologetically at his brother. “Little Sam was given a kitten by one of the servants and he loved it. He wouldn’t stop holding it and carrying it about, but it eventually got tired of him and tried to run off.”_

_“And he chased after it,” Gilly said. “I thought he was going to kill it he was so upset that the cat had turned on him. I told him to let it go and he did. It came to him after all on its own and I told him it just needed time away from him sometimes.”_

_Dickon nodded slowly. “So, Jon is Little Sam smothering Sansa with affection?”_

_“Yes,” Gilly said. “He doesn’t let her be.”_

_“He’s afraid to lose her, you know that,” Sam said softly._

_“Any love she feels for him just gets snuffed out all the more each time he demands her attention and affection and you know it."_

It had been an enlightening and quite disturbing conversation. 

“I am most grateful, Sansa, for this gift,” Dickon told her. 

“Of course! Little Sam will love it.”

Dickon wanted to ask how she was this morning, but he didn’t want to let on that he found anything odd in how Jon had dragged her off last night. Or how they had not joined them in breaking their fast that morning. 

The door was flung open and there stood Sam with a squirming little boy with dark hair in his arms. Dickon thrust the toy forward and Little Sam reached for it, a smile breaking out onto his chubby little cheeks. 

“Come in, come in,” Sam said. “We have tea if you’d like.”

“That sounds wonderful, Sam,” Sansa said and swept in past him. Dickon watched her head straight for Gilly across the room and Gilly handed her a steaming mug which Sansa greedily sipped from. 

“She looks tired,” Dickon said with a frown. 

“Who?”

“Sansa.”

Sam frowned and set Little Sam down. The little tot ran off with his toy to Sansa who put her tea down and scooped Little Sam up into her arms. Dickon smiled as he watched her tickling his nephew and making the boy laugh.

“Oh bother,” Sam muttered.

Dickon tore his gaze from Sansa and looked at his brother. “What is it?”

Sam stepped out into the hall and shut the door behind him. “Do not let Jon catch you looking at Sansa like that. Do not let him catch you looking at her at all. He won’t think twice about running you through, Dickon.”

Dickon felt his hackles go up. “You would serve such a man?”

Sam looked sad. “I owe Jon my life. I owe him a great deal. The man he is now is not the man he was.”

“That doesn’t excuse him, Sam,” Dickon said earnestly. 

“No, I know that. But I can’t stop hoping one day he’ll become the man he was before, and that he and Sansa can find their way back to each other.”

“Do you really think after all this time that’s possible?”

“I’ve seen a lot of things, Dickon. So have you. You should know better than that. You should know that anything in this world is possible.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think the show and my own struggle with writers block is just making things difficult...

"I'd wondered if perhaps you could show me the Godswood, Sansa," Dickon asked from where he stood beside her as she knelt on the floor with Little Sam and Gilly. Sam and Gilly’s quarters were nice at least, a rather spacious room sectioned off with the use of dividers that gave the sense of there being actual rooms.

Sam stood next to him, and could feel his brother's disapproving eyes on him. He didn't care. Things weren't settling well with him here and he wanted the chance to hear it from Sansa's own lips that she wasn't being harmed. 

It wasn’t that Dickon didn’t trust Sam, but he also knew how loyalty could blind a person to the truth. And Sam was very loyal to Jon. Besides, there were ways to hide bruises. However, even if she wasn’t being struck, it was all quite troubling to Dickon.

Sansa studied Little Sam thoughtfully, her red lips puckered in thought before finally looking over at Dickon. “I am sorry, Dickon, I cannot do that, but I’m sure Gilly or Sam could show you.”

“I have some work to do, but I could happily show you before supper, Dickon,” Sam said, a hint of a warning in his tone. 

“Or perhaps I could take you,” Gilly said. “Sansa, I’m sure you could come if Little Sam and I were there.”

Sansa’s mouth fell open in a bit of shock and she darted a glance between Gilly and Dickon. Her cheeks reddened and she looked back at Little Sam. Dickon could see shame on her expression and he felt sorry for it. He hadn’t meant to make it quite so obvious that he wanted to get her alone, but apparently Gilly had other ideas. Based on her passionate display the night before, she seemed determined to give Sansa the freedom Jon didn’t seem inclined to give her. 

“I suppose I could,” Sansa murmured. 

“Sam can keep Jon busy,” Gilly said. 

Sam’s mouth fell open and then he snapped it shut and glared at his wife. Gilly ignored him and strode across the room to retrieve her cloak and Little Sam’s as well. 

Gilly wasted no time, and she gave Sam no room to argue. They were out the door and striding to the Godswood before anyone could try and stop them. Dickon kept looking over his shoulder half-expecting Jon to appear and drag Sansa back to the castle. He supposed that was the reason for Sansa’s long strides. She was practically running. 

The Godswood at Winterfell were beautiful and Dickon looked up in awe at the giant Weirwood tree with its red leaves that reminded him of Sansa’s hair. Little Sam ran off to play in the snow, squealing happily and Gilly ran after him, giggling. 

Dickon smiled at them for a moment and then his gaze drifted to Sansa who was watching them with a serene smile on her face. “Sansa…” he began. He had been so determined to ask her if she was well, but now words failed him. It was really such a delicate topic…

“You are wondering about me and Jon,” Sansa said finally, still watching Gilly and Little Sam. 

Dickon cleared his throat. “I am. Sansa, does he…strike you?”

Sansa looked at him, startled. She shook her head vehemently. “No. Jon would never do that.”

“Are you lying?”

Her expression softened and she shook her head. “No, Dickon. Jon does not strike me. He’s not that kind of man.”

“Then what exactly kind of man is he? What I saw last night gave me reason to worry.”

“I know. I saw the look on your face.”

“There are rumors of the two of you.”

Sansa sighed. “I am not surprised. What are they?”

“That he is obsessed with you. That he breathes dragon fire at any man that comes near you.”

She laughed, but it was a sad and mocking sort of laugh as she looked back at Little Sam and Gilly. “Well, he does not breathe dragon fire, but close enough.”

“It’s why you couldn’t show me the Godswood.”

“It is better with Gilly here…though I am sure he would still find fault with it.” She sighed. “Though I suppose showing an unmarried man the Godswood alone would be quite enough fodder for tongues to wag.”

“Aye, you are perhaps right about that,” Dickon said slowly. “So, he is obsessed with you? That much is true?”

“Jon is…”

“Yes? Say it, please.”

“Desperate, I suppose.”

“But why?”

“He has me in all the ways a husband has a wife. Except I do not give him the one thing he wants. My heart.” Her voice faltered on the last bit, and Dickon wondered if he saw tears in her eyes before she turned away from him. “Excuse me.” She strode off and Dickon found himself with even more questions he wanted answers to. 

Had Sansa loved him once? If so, what had Jon done to make her stop? Or had Jon fallen in love and Sansa hadn’t when they’d wed? Was she truly immune to Jon? Based on how sad she’d looked and the wobble in her voice, Dickon would wager a guess that perhaps she was not so immune…or perhaps she just felt guilt for not loving Jon back?

And the biggest question of all: If what Gilly said was true, that what Sansa needed was space away from Jon, was there any way to give that to her?

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Jon was having difficulty focusing on the ledgers in front of him. He had no mind for numbers, not the way Sansa did. He looked away from the papers on his desk and out the window from his solar. 

“Problem, Jon?” Sam asked from the seat across from Jon’s at the desk. 

Jon pushed the papers away and then pushed himself away from the desk and stood. “I wish to find Sansa. She has a better head for these things than I do.”

“Perhaps I could help then?” Sam asked. 

Jon stared down at him. How did he tell Sam that his wanting to see Sansa had nothing to do with the ledgers. It had everything to do with need. He could not bear to be apart from her long. He needed to see her face, hear her voice, and feel her skin under his hands. When she was gone too long from his side he felt as though his skin was growing tight and he couldn’t catch his breath. 

(What if she left me?)

When she was near, he could reassure himself that she was his, at least for the time being. The further she got away from him, the more time spent apart, he feared she’d….not forget, but…but that he would not be in her thoughts as she was always in his. 

“I want to see Sansa,” Jon said. 

“I am sure she is seeing to her own duties,” Sam said. “How happy she’d be if I were to help you.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. Sam was nervous. There was sweat along his brow and his brown eyes were shifted away. He was also fidgeting with the quill he’d been using to write with. 

“What is it?” Jon asked, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward. “What is happening?”

“P-pardon?”

“I know you, Sam. You’re keeping something from me. What is it? Does it have to do with Sansa?”

Sam looked down and Jon slammed a fist on the table. “What is it?!” he shouted. 

Sam looked up at him with wide-eyes. It was the first time Jon had ever seen his friend actually look afraid of him. He was sorry for that. And yet…not. 

“Sansa, Gilly, Little Sam, and Dickon are in the Godswood. My brother, h-he wanted to see it—”

With a growl, Jon stormed from the room. He didn’t want that sod near Sansa. He didn’t like any comely man near his wife to be sure, but after he’d watch her flirt with him the night before, he definitely did not want Sansa near him. 

“Jon,” Sam panted as he ran to keep up with Jon. “Is it really so terrible for her to be at the Godswood?”

Jon didn’t answer him. He didn’t want to harm Sam. Sam was on his side. Or at least he thought he was. 

Sam didn’t leave him, and when the servants, trainers, and lords called for him as he passed through the courtyard, Jon paid then no mind. His only thought was to get to Sansa, and to get her away from Dickon Tarly. He’d given her leave to visit the Tarly’s that morning, knowing Dickon would be there. He hadn’t given her leave to go to the Godswood with Dickon and Gilly. She knew to keep him abreast of where she would be at all times. 

As he came up on the Godswood, he heard her tinkling laughter and something burst in his chest. He gasped, feeling nearly struck down at the knees at the sound. 

It was so rare to hear her laugh. Not since…

Not since…

And then he saw her, laughing as she looked upon Little Sam and then she turned her head and looked up at Dickon over her shoulder. He smiled at her warmly and Jon saw red. 

“Sansa!” he barked. 

Her smile fell…her smile fell...

Her smile

fell. 

“Please do not do something you will regret, Jon,” Sam said quietly from behind him. 

Jon snapped his head to shoot Sam a glare before striding forward. He came upon Sansa and gripped her hands in his. “My love,” he murmured. “You are without gloves.”

“I am all right—”

“No, my love. It is freezing out here.”

“I am quite warm,” she insisted. 

He looked at her, hating how her eyes darted away from his gaze. He wanted her eyes on him. He wanted her everything focused on him. 

“Come inside with me, sweet girl. Let me get you some tea, and you can help me with the ledgers.”

A blast of cold wet hit the side of his face and he heard Little Sam erupt into laughter. Jon wiped the snow from his cheek, momentarily letting Sansa free. He looked to the side at Little Sam and found Gilly looking oddly guilty. “I was aiming for Sam and missed,” she said.

She lied. First Sam kept something from him – perhaps even helped Sansa escape to the Godswood with his brother – and now Gilly was tossing snowballs at him. Jon glanced at Dickon who was watching him with narrowed eyes. 

“I’ll come inside with you,” Sansa said softly. 

Jon looked at her searchingly. She wanted to be with him. It was not because she was trying to diffuse the tension, no, she wanted to be with him.

Because she loved him. 

He wanted to believe, but he doubted. His heart ached with all the doubt he held inside him. 

“Come,” he said urgently and gripped her hand. He strode quickly from the Godswood, Sansa practically running to keep up with him. 

He didn’t stop until they were at his solar. They were both out of breath and when Jon slammed the door shut behind him, he grabbed Sansa and pushed her against it. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the door on either side of her head and leaned in until her breasts brushed against his chest. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the Godswood, Sansa?” he asked. “And with Dickon? I told you last night I didn’t want you near him. And now you’ve kept something from me purposely and I’ve gotten the distinct impression that my friends are in on it.”

“Jon—”

“Are they?”

She looked him in the eye. “He wanted to see the Godswood. I wanted to go. I wanted to play with Little Sam in the snow,” she said. 

He didn’t feel sated with her answers. “Why all the secrecy then?”

She dragged her gaze to where had her wrists pinned to the door and then slowly looked back at him. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Don’t you dare keep things from me,” he growled. 

“It was harmless!” she exclaimed and pushed against his grip. She managed to free herself and she leapt away from him. Jon lunged after her and dragged her back against him, burying his face in her neck. 

“My love,” he whispered. “Don’t fight me.”

“Don’t be upset with them. I just wanted a spot of fun while you were busy.”

“You can make it up to me, sweet girl,” he murmured and nuzzled at her neck. “But you will be punished for this.”

She shivered. “How?”

“We’ll retire to our bedchambers and there you will stay for the rest of the day.”

“Will you be with me?” she asked, her voice shaking. 

He spun her around and kissed her hard. He smiled and stroked the side of her face. “Sweet girl, you know how your punishment works. You will stay there and I will leave as I wish. If you are a good girl for me, I’ll let you leave after we break our fast on the morn.”

“Will you not take Sam, Gilly, and our guest to task if I comply?”

He clenched his jaw. He was most certainly going to have words with Sam. “I can’t promise that.”

“Jon, please.”

“If you’re a really good girl for me I will go easy on them.”

Sansa leaned in and kissed him sweetly and Jon’s heart soared. She’d kissed him! “Lead the way, Jon,” she purred. 

Hard and aching for her, Jon dragged her to their bedchamber.


	6. Chapter 6

Dickon couldn’t believe that Sam, and even Gilly, hadn’t done something to stop Jon from whisking Sansa away. Despite the fact that she had agreed to go with him, Dickon knew that she hadn’t wanted to. When he’d taken a step in their direction, intent on stopping them, Gilly had thrown a snowball in his face. 

“What was that for?” he exclaimed. 

“To stop you,” Gilly said. “No good will come from you going after them.”

“She’s right,” Sam murmured. 

“After all the work it took to get her to come out here, now we’re going to abandon her when she needs us the most?” Dickon was outraged by this, and he failed to comprehend it. Gilly had appeared to be on Sansa’s side and now she wasn’t doing a thing to help her. 

Gilly brushed the snow off her gloves and tugged Little Sam with her. She came up to Dickon and peered up at him. “We can only do so much, Dickon. We love Sansa, and we care for her in our own way. But we know better than to interfere too much. We took a risk today doing what we did. Jon’s patience where Sansa is concerned only goes so far.”

“He thought a guard had taken a liking to her,” Sam began. 

“No,” Gilly said, frowning at her husband. “He thought more than that. He thought Sansa had taken a liking to him, too.” She looked back up at Dickon. “All because she’d laughed at something he’d said when she went to bring them sweet treats.”

Sam smiled. “She takes care of the men.”

“Jon sent him away with nothing but the clothes on his back and a horse,” Gilly said. “He froze to death in the woods.”

“He’d barely even made it to the King’s Road,” Sam murmured. 

“Any man who comes in contact with Sansa has been threatened,” Gilly said with a sigh. “One of the lords dared to touch her hand and he nearly lost his.”

“He’s a monster,” Dickon whispered. 

“Aye,” Gilly said. “A monster that would do anything for her to love him again.”

“He wasn’t always like this,” Sam said softly. 

“You keep saying that!” Dickon exploded. 

“It’s true, sadly,” Gilly said on a sigh. 

“The day Sansa withdrew her love from him…” Sam let the thought trail off, but Gilly finished it for him: “Was the day Jon went mad.”

Dickon shivered. He’d never loved a woman so much that he’d gone mad from it. But then, he’d never loved a woman. With his body he had, but not with his heart. He’d like to think though, that it wouldn’t twist him into something ugly. It frightened him to think that love could do such a thing, and he tended to think that what Jon felt was not love. He was obsessed, just as the rumors had claimed. Obsession, though, was not love. It was something else entirely.

“What happened between them?” he asked quietly. 

“Why don’t we go back inside?” Sam suggested, doing his best to sound in good spirits. 

“We’ll tell you the story,” Gilly said as she scooped Little Sam up into her arms and followed Sam as he started out of the Godswood. Dickon followed, fighting his every instinct to run into the castle and rescue Sansa. 

xxxxxxxxx

Jon had let the servants know the King and Queen were not to be disturbed unless Winterfell itself was crumbling down around them. 

Sansa knew he meant it, too. He didn’t like being disturbed when he laid with her. 

Their chambers were warm, still lit up with the midday sun and Sansa felt anticipation luring her into its snare. Her breath, she noticed was heavier and shorter. Her skin tingled and hummed. Her nethers stirred, knowing what was to come. 

Jon faced her, his eyes running over her. He licked his lips when his eyes landed on her breasts. “Undress,” he told her. 

She turned her back. “I need help.” Had her voice just shook? 

Jon made quick work of her fastenings. When she stepped out of her gown, he tossed it on a nearby bench. Next came her chemise, and finally, her small clothes. She made sure not to peel the layers off too quickly – Jon liked to watch. 

(Did he make the Dragon Queen strip for him?)

She tossed her garments on the bench with her gown and tried not to let it bother her that she had not been able to at least hang it up. 

“Put your hands down at your sides,” Jon breathed, his nostrils flaring as he again looked her over. His gaze was at once lecherous and worshipful. 

“Take out my cock,” he ordered her. She strode up to him, snagging a pillow to kneel on first. She sank down to her knees and undid his breeches, hating how her hands shook and her mouth watered.

(Did the Dragon Queen do this for him?)

She tugged his manhood free from his breeches and small clothes and leaned down to lick the head of it. He was hard, his breathing was harsh, and he looked at her with such heat she thought she might go up in flames. 

(Did he look at the Dragon Queen like that?)

What did it say about her that her heart quickened because of that look? What did it say about her and her traitorous heart that the worst part of her punishments were all the feelings they invoked within her? She was perched on a blade, teetering between wanting this and not wanting this and in the meantime, bleeding out. 

But then, so was he. 

He bled for her all the time, and she lapped it up as though she was a bloodthirsty demon. 

“You are a dirty girl, aren’t you, Sansa?” Jon murmured as he slid one hand in her hair. She felt her hair start to break free of its braid. Jon liked the feel of her hair between his fingers. 

(Did he run his fingers through the Dragon Queen’s hair?)

She was. She was a dirty girl. She took him in her mouth then and bit back a moan at the feel of him there. She didn’t do this for him unless she was being punished. Doing it she cared, that she loved him, and wanted to make him feel good. She made it clear she had no desire to make him feel good. 

But, this was her punishment. 

And she was a good girl (and a dirty girl) who did all the depraved things he wanted. 

(Except for that one pure thing he wanted.)

She knew just how he liked to be sucked. He liked it when she took him down down down as far as she could take him in her throat. He liked it when she swiped the underside of his manhood with her tongue. When she played with his stones. When she sucked on the head. He liked her slurping on him and gliding her teeth just so down his length. It made him shudder and moan. 

“Keep your eyes on me,” he commanded. 

Her eyes always had to be locked on his. Did he think she needed the reminder of who was in her mouth? Or did he need the reminder of whose mouth was on him?

“My ass,” he grunted. “Put your finger in my ass.”

Ah, yes. He liked that, too. 

It made her feel dirtier. 

It made her feel alive. 

Sliding a hand around his bottom, she sought out that hole and pressed a finger inside. 

He gripped her hair in his hands and shoved himself inside her mouth further. “Sansa!” he shouted once, and came in her mouth. 

He liked it when she swallowed his seed. 

(She liked it, too.)

(Had the Dragon Queen?)

She licked him clean and then sat back on her heels and awaited her next direction. 

“On the bed,” he rasped. “I want your cunt.”

Sansa shivered involuntarily knowing exactly what was coming. 

(And it wouldn’t be her.)

As she climbed onto the bed, Jon went to an oft-used drawer and pulled out to strips of gray silk. It was silk she had used and then discarded for a dress and Jon had found other, more interesting ways of using them. 

She lay down among the pillows and furs and stretched her arms up towards the bedposts. Jon made quick work of tying her to them, and then he stripped while gazing down at her hungrily. 

“Look at you,” he said, his voice rough with lust. “Fucking perfect is what you are.”

(Did he think the Dragon Queen had been perfect?)

A sharp pain in her heart had her looking away from him and he placed his hand on the side of her face and made her look at him. “Do not look away from me, Sansa. I am your lord and master here. I am your _king_.”

She nodded imperceptibly. 

Jon climbed up on the bed and lay down on his front. He spread her legs rather obscenely and Sansa had to remember to breathe. She was about to bite her lip and then decided against it. 

She kept her eyes on his as he licked her, nibbled on her, and used his fingers to fuck her. (Only dirty girls said such things and thought such things). 

She turned her head, trying to not let him know how close she was. 

“Don’t look away from me,” he growled as he slid two fingers inside her and began to move them back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. And then his mouth was there, licking and sucking licking and sucking licking and sucking.

(Did he do this for the Dragon Queen?)

She sucked in a breath and held it.

She was going to peak. 

He lifted his mouth off her and pulled his hand away. He rose up on one elbow looked up at her with a smug smile that she wanted to slap off. 

She wanted to cry out. She wanted to tell him not to stop. She didn’t want to play this game. This game was cruel and it hurt. It made her squirm and ache and _need him._

“Beg,” he said darkly, his eyes black, his heart black, and his soul black too. 

She shook her head, wanting to cry. She tried to bring her legs together to ease the pressure, but Jon wasn’t having it. He pressed them apart and blew on her cunt. She shivered and writhed, her hips rolling and doing the begging for her.

“Beg!” he shouted. 

“No!” she shouted back and tugged at the scarves. 

Jon slid a hand down the inside of her thigh, nearing where she needed him, but stopping just before he got there. “Beg,” he said softly and stroked his hand back up toward her knee. 

She shook her head and he leaned down and flicked his tongue against her nub. 

Another one another one another one, she thought. 

“Do you want to peak, Sansa?” he purred and started to stroke the other thigh. 

She squeezed her eyes shut. 

“I’ll let you if you ask nicely.”

“Oh, but you are a sadistic bastard,” she spat. 

He laughed and that was black too. “I am. The dirty girl and the bastard in bed. In our bed.” He swiped a thumb across her nub. 

She couldn’t take it anymore. She was at the end. The end of her rope. Now she was going to hang herself with it. She lifted her head and looked down at him, right into his black eyes and his black heart and his black soul. “Please make me peak, _please, please_ , make me peak!” 

He took mercy on her and put his mouth back on her while pressing a finger into her bottom. 

Sansa nearly jackknifed off the bed as her peak came crashing through her taking her under. She couldn’t hear (but she knew she was screaming) she couldn’t see (her eyes were squeezed tight) and she couldn’t feel anything but the ecstasy. 

She collapsed against the bed, sweating and panting. 

“My sweet girl,” Jon murmured lovingly as he untied her wrists. When he lay back down against her, she felt his hardness between her thighs. 

“I can’t,” she gasped. “I can’t anymore.”

He smiled and captured her lips in a deep, hard kiss. She could taste herself on him. 

“You can,” he whispered. “And you will. I am far from done with you, Sansa…”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel I should give fair warning that the end to this story has changed a lot. As in, I have four different endings for it and I am still not sure which one I'm going with. It all depends on how pissed off I am at Jon on any given day. So, please just bear with me.

Jon slipped inside her and Sansa gasped. "Slow," she said shakily and pressed a hand to his chest. "Go slow."

"Am I hurting you?" he asked with a frown. 

_Constantly_ , she thought. "Just go slow," she repeated. 

She quickly learned the mistake in having him go slow. It gave him time to linger over her, caress her face, and kiss her sweetly (it tasted sweet, but it was poison).

"Do you know that you are always in my thoughts?" he murmured as he nuzzled the side of her face. "That I feel like I can't breathe when you're not beside me?"

She turned her head and kissed him to keep him from talking. It felt like he was stabbing her in the heart with Longclaw when he spoke of his love. Was he lying? Was he telling the truth? Was this love? 

(Had he thought he loved the Dragon Queen?)

He broke the kiss, panting. "You are everything to me. My entire world. I don't worship the old gods or the new. I worship you."

She pushed at him, forcing him onto his back. She mounted him, wanting him to feast his eyes on her body and hopefully stop his mouth. His eyes lit up as he gripped her hips. She undulated them and he moaned, "Sansa..."

She wanted him to peak and she wanted him to do it fast despite the fact that he had already. She moved harder, faster, and her breasts bounced. He liked that. He reached up and gripped them, but not hard. He then pulled her down, and she knew he wanted a kiss. She didn't want one so she braced herself against his chest, her palms flat on his chest. 

"Sansa," he growled. 

She kept the rhythm, never slowing, and her gaze drifted over his handsome face. His beautiful face. 

(Had the Dragon Queen rode him like this?)

Her gaze fell on his neck and she thought she'd like to squeeze and watch the life seep out of him slowly…

 _No._

This was not her. This was not what she wanted to become. 

(But she felt it bubbling up, wanting full possession of her).

With tears blinding her, she lifted up, dislodging him from inside her and then climbed off of him. 

"Sansa!" he cried out in dismay, his eyes wide with disbelief. 

She ran to the other side of the room where her dress was and snatched it up from the bench. It was wrong; it was improper, but at the moment she didn't care. She unlocked the door and bolted down the hall, hoping she didn't see anyone of consequence. 

"Sansa!" Jon shouted from down the hall. 

He was coming after her. 

He was always coming after her. 

He would never stop coming after her. 

She made it inside, slammed the door shut, and locked it. She then dragged a table over. And then a bench. 

Sobbing, she threw her dress over her head and sat on the cold stone floor. She wanted her mother. She wanted her father. She wanted Robb and Arya and Bran and Rickon. 

She wanted everything back the way it was before the war. When Jon was her bastard brother and there was no King's Landing, no Joffrey, no Littlefinger...

If she closed her eyes tight enough. If she prayed to the old Gods and new. If she believed hard enough. If she sobbed until she was dried up maybe they would come back. 

"Sansa!" Jon shouted, startling her as he pounded on her door and made it shake. 

"Leave me alone!" she shouted back. 

"Sansa, open this door or I will break it down!"

"Break it down then!" she cried out. "Just like you've broken me."

Silence.

Then, "Sansa." Softer now. Hoarse. 

She hunched over rubbing her forehead. "Please leave me alone, Jon,” she said wearily. “I need to be alone."

"You know I can't do that." He sounded almost regretful. 

"What do you think will happen if you give me a moment's respite?" she demanded as she scrambled to her feet. 

He didn't answer. Then, "You'll leave me."

"As you left _me_?! Out of your sight for a minute and you lay with someone else! You swear fealty to her!"

"It was a lie! It was all a lie! I had to do it, Sansa, I had to convince her to fight on my side to defeat the Wights. I couldn't do it alone. Everything I did, it was for _you_. For Arya and Bran. For Winterfell and our _home_. I couldn't let us fall to ruin. _I couldn't risk having you killed_."

"You had to convince her by laying with her, by making her womb quicken?!"

He was crying now, she could hear him breaking down through the door. 

She lifted her chin at the sound. Good. She wanted him broken. Just as broken as she was. 

"Sansa, please let me in," he sobbed. "Let me hold you. Let me explain."

“I’ve heard it all before,” she snapped. “You expect me to believe you felt nothing for her?”

“Yes! It was you I thought of!”

“And do you think of her when you fuck me now?”

“No!” he cried. He scratched at the door. “It’s you. Only you. Always you.”

“I’m not playing your game anymore.”

“I don’t want to play games, Sansa. I just want the life we promised each other we would have!”

Sansa closed her eyes and rubbed her temples gently with the pads of her fingers and focused on breathing in and out. She’d learned once how to stay ahead of games. How to play them better than others. She could look at the players and know how to move them about to secure the result she wanted. Somewhere along the way she’d lost it. She’d sunk into a game she thought she was in control of and had now just realized that perhaps she wasn’t in as much control as she thought she was. 

_What is it I want?_ she asked herself. 

Freedom. 

_How do I gain freedom?_

…  
…

By leaving him. 

_How do I leave him when he won’t give me a moment’s respite?_

By giving him what he wants. 

Her eyes popped open and she dropped her hands. She stared at the door and a plan began to form. 

xxxxxxxx

Sansa woke slowly, her head hurting slightly still from the night before. Her belly rumbled. She hadn’t had dinner, not even luncheon come to think of it. She was also parched. She licked her dry lips and turned her head on the pillow to look at the door. 

Was Jon still out there?

She rolled her eyes. What a ridiculous question. Of course he was. 

Sitting up slowly, she rested on her elbows for a minute and considered what the first step in her plan was. Then she swung her legs off the side of the bed and shuffled toward the door, easing her dress back over shoulder. 

“Jon?” she called through the door. Her voice was hoarse from sleep. 

Silence. 

“Jon?” she said louder. 

“Sansa?” he croaked. 

“My head hurts,” she said. “Will you fetch Sam for me?”

“May I come in? May I see you? Please, love…”

“Could I perhaps see Sam, have a bath and some food first?”

“You mean you’ll see me?” He sounded so hopeful…

“Yes. Once I am put together.”

“I rather like you disheveled.” Now she could hear the humor in his voice. 

“Jon, please?”

“Only if you promise me that I can see you after. That we can talk about this.”

Sansa picked a piece of lint off the skirt of her dress. She rolled her head from side to side and raked a hand through her knotted hair. “I promise,” she said resignedly. 

“I’ll fetch Sam and a bath now, my love.”

Sansa’s lip curled back at his endearment and then set about moving the table and bench away from the door. 

She then went to her desk and procured a piece of paper. She sat down and dipped her quill in the ink bottle and penned an urgent letter to Brienne.

She didn’t mince words: _I’ve need of you. Do not let on when you arrive that I have sent for you. Ask Jaime for a right and proper lie. He’s good at that. Thank you._

(One must remember their courtesies).

By the time she had finished signing it and sealing it, Sam was rapping at her door. 

Sansa slipped the letter into her desk drawer and went to the door to let him in. She made sure to look as weary as she could (which honestly wasn’t terribly difficult considering she did feel rather worn still). 

Sam looked worried and, just as Sansa had expected, Jon was behind him looking worried as well. His eyes drank her in and Sansa sighed heavily. “Jon, you promised,” she murmured. 

“I know, I know,” he said and held up in his hands. “I just wanted to see you.” He forced a smile. “Now I have. I’ll see about having a bath and food sent up now.”

She nodded. “Thank you.” She stepped aside to let Sam inside. 

After shutting the door, he held up a vial. “I brought you only a bit of milk of the poppy for your head.” He frowned. “Are you well?”

“How much did you hear?” she asked, taking the vial from him.

“Almost all of it. I had to stop my brother from running Jon through.”

Sansa frowned. “I apologize for putting you all in the position of having to hear all that. I am glad you stopped your brother though. Jon would have killed him.”

“I know,” Sam murmured. 

Sansa went to her desk and retrieved the letter to Brienne. She came over to Sam and handed it to him, making sure to meet his gaze straight on so he saw the importance of this. “Sam, I need you to send a raven to Brienne.”

Sam looked down at the rolled up letter in her hand. “You’re sending for her now?”

“It’s been long enough I think.”

Now Sam looked even more worried and Sansa knew he wanted to know why she was sending for Brienne now after so long. When Jaime had asked Sansa if he could use Brienne at Casterly Rock to help in “training his knights”, Sansa had known what pretense that was. Jon, eager to have anyone that could hinder his access to Sansa, had told Brienne to go. 

He might wonder at why Brienne was all of a sudden showing up without being sent for, but she was certain her shield would be able to come up with something. Especially with Jaime’s help.

“Ask me no questions, Sam,” Sansa murmured. “All that I ask is that you send a raven and don’t tell Jon. Can you do that for me?”

Sam nodded and took the letter. “I can.”

“Thank you.” She opened the vial, smiled, and held it up. “Cheers.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your help kittykatknits!

After Sansa bathed, dressed, and ate, she opened her door to find Jon waiting for her. 

"Have you seen to your duties?" she asked him, her hands folded together and resting loosely against her front. 

"You're my only duty today, Sansa."

"That is not true. Remember, we needed reports of our stores."

"Sansa," he sighed. "I'll look at all the things that need to be done later. Right now, I wish for us to speak."

He looked as tired and worn as she felt, though a bath and food did help some. "Have you eaten?" she asked. "Bathed?"

"I've eaten some," he mumbled. "And I'll bathe later."

"Lots of things for you to do later," she said primly. 

"Sansa," he growled. 

She sighed. "Shall we speak in your solar then?"

He nodded and offered his arm to her. Sansa rolled her eyes inwardly, and took it. 

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked softly. 

"When you stopped talking through the door."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, and when they got to Jon's solar, he pushed the door open and Sansa walked through. She chose the chair by the fireplace and Jon dragged one from across the room to sit across from her. She folded her hands on her lap and looked at him expectantly. 

Jon reached over and pulled her hands apart. He held them in his own and then brushed his lips several times across her knuckles. He stared down at them as he began to speak. "Sansa, I never loved Dany--"

"Pray call her Daenerys instead of something so familiar and intimate," she said and attempted to pull her hands from his grasp. He would not let go. 

"I apologize," he murmured. "I won't do it again." He looked up at her, his eyes full of sorrow. How much Sansa wanted to pluck them out of his skull. "I never wanted her, Sansa. She was rash and unpredictable. I saw her temper firsthand, saw her lash out at Tyrion and fly off in a rage with her dragons. She was not someone to be trusted, not someone whose word I felt held weight. Even when I _thought_ I had convinced her of the White Walkers existence, her only concern was that I bend the knee."

"I've heard all this before, Jon."

"Hear it again. Understand it. Please."

She heaved a sigh and nodded. 

"She was self-centered and prone to tantrums. I think once she might have had a good heart, but ambition blinded her to all that and she sought only to have power and in the quickest way possible."

"I'm aware." She cocked her head to the side. "She burned down Sam's family too, if I remember correctly, on a fiery rampage. Sam's sister, his parents...though as I understand it there was no love lost between Sam and his father. The only Tarly's left are Dickon and Sam, and Dickon is now in the process of rebuilding their home."

Jon's jaw clenched. "I know. And you are proving my point about her."

"I'm also proving the opposite. This was a woman you expected the North to yield to. This was a woman with dragons who burned people that didn't bend to her. It was bad enough she was here with those monstrous beasts."

"I needed her dragons, Sansa! I couldn't allow Cersei to help despite how she offered. She would have come after you at her first opportunity instead. Daenerys had feelings for me. I knew it. And I used them to ensure her on my side."

"By laying with her."

He grimaced. "Aye."

"If you were a woman, you'd be called a whore."

Jon sucked in a breath. "It was only our safety I cared about, Sansa. Making sure we lived to see the dawn. To have the life we wanted."

"And if she had lived?" She asked coldly and forcefully disengaged her hands from his. "Would you have taken her as your wife as well? It is the Targaryen practice is it not, to have more than one wife? Would you have lived here or in Kings Landing? Would she have burned our houses here in the North for not bending to her? Would she have let her Dothraki horde rape and pillage their way through our home?" She got to her feet, rage making her tremble and her voice rise with every word. " _Did you not think further through your plan_?!" 

Jon reached for her, but she moved before he could grab hold of her. He shot to his feet, dogging her every step. "You forget that I am half Targaryen and with a stronger claim than she had."

Sansa whipped around to face him. "No, I did not forget. Instead you risked making an enemy of her, and killing us all just the same. Unless, as I said you wed her. Did you expect I would accept you wedding her? Watching you raise your child with her?!"

"She told me she was barren!"

Sansa slapped him once, quickly across the face. His eyes went wide and she slapped him again on the other cheek. "So you thought to ask if she could conceive first! You wouldn't want to come home to the woman you claimed to love with another woman heavy with your child, would you?"

Jon grabbed her arms. "Sansa, stop!"

"And you lied to me! I had to find out from someone else! You didn't even have the decency to tell me what you had done before you asked me to wed you!"

 _I hate you! I hate you!_ she screamed at him in her head. _I hate you and I'll never love you again!_

Jon grabbed her to him, winding his arms around her tightly. He gasped, and then started to cry, pressing the side of his face against hers. "Sansa, I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please...please...you have to forgive me, my love. I can't stand this. I need you."

"You lied to me," she said coldly, softly. 

"I was afraid to lose you."

 _You did_ , she thought. 

"What did you plan if she'd lived?"

"I had no plan," he cried. "I'm sorry."

_You would have left me to clean up your mess _, she thought. _To accept your child._ __

__Would she have been able to do such a thing? She'd like to think that after what her mother had put Jon through that she would be able to not take her feelings of betrayal out on an innocent child, but when she thought of Daenerys carrying Jon's child and then giving birth to it..._ _

__It would have been a mess had Daenerys lived through that battle._ _

__"I need some time alone," Sansa said stiffly. She held her body rigidly, sending the sign that she wanted him to let go of her._ _

__He held her tighter. "No, we need to talk still. I have to make you understand that I love you. That I need you. And that I'm sorry."_ _

__"I have listened to what you said, but I need some time to think on it, Jon."_ _

__He leaned back and looked at her searchingly while cupping her face in his hands. He had tears in his eyes. "Tell me what I can do."_ _

__"I told you. I need time alone to think."_ _

__"And then what?"_ _

__He was like a child._ _

__"And then we'll talk so more."_ _

__He leaned in closer to her and she felt his breath on her face. "Do you promise me?"_ _

__"Yes."_ _

__He leaned in to kiss her and Sansa turned her head away. "No, Jon," she said and pushed at his chest._ _

__"Please, Sansa, I need you."_ _

__"I said no. If you want us to fix this, then you have to listen to me and what I want and what I need. I don't want to kiss you right now. I want you to let go of me and tend to your duties so that I can tend to mine."_ _

__He pursed his lips together and Sansa thought maybe…maybe… “Two hours. And then I come find you.”_ _

__She sighed and nodded._ _

__He kissed her cheek gently, letting his lips linger. “I love you,” he whispered._ _

__Sansa resisted the urge to shove him away. He let her go slowly, keeping his gaze on her, and then left._ _

__Feeling utterly drained, Sansa sighed and rested her hands on a nearby table. She hunched over, exhausted, and breathed deep._ _

__“Sansa?”_ _

__Startled, Sansa turned and found Dickon standing in the doorway. Her eyes went wide. “Dickon, what are you doing here? If Jon saw you—”_ _

__“He didn’t. I hid.”_ _

__“He could come back.”_ _

__“I wanted to check on you. I was worried.” He twisted his hands before him and he looked down at them, his jaw clenching. “Sam had to stop me from killing him.”_ _

__“I am sorry you had to hear all that.”_ _

__“Don’t apologize.” He took a step forward. “Are you all right?”_ _

__“I am well,” she said, but her voice shook._ _

__He took another step toward her and Sansa held up her hand. He stopped dead and Sansa rushed past him to look both ways down the hall. She ducked back inside Jon’s solar and whispered, “Follow me.”_ _

__She hurried out the room, practically running down the hall. Her heart beat hard in her chest with the fear of detection. If Jon saw her with Dickon in the state he was in, he would kill him._ _

__She ran down another hall, and then another. She could hear Dickon behind her, running as well, and strangely, she started to giggle._ _

__She ducked into an empty room and Dickon all but lunged inside. She shut the door and leaned back against it. With her hand covering her mouth, she burst into quiet laughter as she looked over at Dickon who was breathing hard and smiling at her._ _

__When was the last time she had laughed thus? When was the last time anyone but Gilly cared how Jon treated her? Sam cared in his own way, and Sansa tried her best not to let the Northern lords see any strife between them, but since she had given Brienne leave to visit Jaime, she had been alone._ _

__If one counted having Jon practically stitched to her side as alone. Which she did, oddly enough._ _

__“Thank you, Dickon, for your concern,” she said earnestly. “I would ask you not to bother yourself with my troubles. I have it all well in hand.”_ _

__“Do you? It didn’t sound that way.”_ _

__She tilted her head to the side, considering her words. “I am gaining back my footing.”_ _

__“Sansa, if I might be so bold – are you sure it is safe for you to be here with him?”_ _

__“Dickon, again I would ask you not to trouble yourself—”_ _

__He stepped forward until he was close enough to reach out and touch. The sudden closeness of him caused Sansa’s breath to hitch. His warm brown eyes searched hers. “I cannot help but want to trouble myself. I do not like to see a woman as beautiful and as kind and generous as you being mistreated.”_ _

__Sweet words. Kind words. Dickon Tarly was a true knight. So very…chivalrous._ _

__Did he have any darkness lurking inside him? she wondered. Most men did. Women, too. Looking at Dickon now though, she couldn’t imagine he did. He looked so pure. So gallant and strong._ _

__“I thank you again,” she whispered. She stepped to the side and reached for the latch on the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some duties to attend to.”_ _

__He nodded, his gaze boring deep into her._ _

__“You can find your way back?”_ _

__He nodded again._ _

__Feeling her heart skip, Sansa left and hurried down the hall putting as much distance between herself and Dickon as possible._ _


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I deleted the last chapter. Didn't like the second half of it. SO, I rewrote it. The first half is the same. . .

After checking on the report of the stores of food they had, and setting up a plan for restoring what they'd lost, Sansa then saw to her other duties which included checking on the kitchens and seeing to the menu, looking over the ledgers Jon had failed to look at the day before, and seeing that the mending was being done. 

Afterwards, she managed to escape to the Godswood, and hoped she'd have some time alone before Jon came in search of her. She sat down upon the stone bench under it and breathed deeply. She closed her eyes and listened to the rustle of leaves over her head.

 _Hello, sister._

Sansa smiled, keeping her eyes closed at the sound of Bran's voice coming to her through the tree. _Hello, Bran._

_You are troubled_ , he said. 

_I am_ , she replied. 

_It's Jon._

_Yes._

_You plan to leave him._

Sansa sighed, ignoring the stab of pain she felt in her chest. _Yes._

 _Are you certain it is what you want?_ he asked. 

_How could it not be what I want? I am in a cage in my home yet again._ Irritation bled through her answer and she felt guilt for it. She didn't talk to Bran very often; he didn't deserve her anger. 

_I do not think you are being entirely honest_ , he said. 

Sansa's eyes flew open. "How am I not being honest?" she demanded aloud. 

_You know_. 

"Is this some sort of trick? To make me feel guilty for wanting to leave him? For having to resort to trickery to be free? Because he is your cousin and your brother still in a way?"

_No._

"That's all you'll say on the matter?"

 _What you want has changed, sister._

"What does that mean, Bran?"

Silence. 

"Bran?"

More silence. 

He was gone. 

Frustrated now, Sansa sat and stewed. _What I want has changed._

No, that was not true. She still wanted to leave. She still planned to leave. That had not changed. So, what did Bran mean? 

"There you are."

Sansa inwardly groaned at the sound of Jon's voice and she looked up at him, not caring to change her expression to one of placidity. 

Jon stopped abruptly. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Is my time up already?"

He ignored her question and came over to sit beside her. Sansa scooted to the side and though she knew she was acting like a child, she didn't care. She'd come to talk to Bran, and instead received a cryptic message. 

She should know better by now. 

_You don't know everything, Bran,_ she thought bitterly and hoped he heard her. 

"Do you believe me when I say I felt nothing for Daenerys?" Jon asked. 

"Jon, I do not wish to have this discussion now," she sighed. "I am rather tired and am in no mood for this discussion."

"I need for you to understand, Sansa."

"Why? To make _me_ feel better or to make _you_ feel better?" she asked as she got to her feet. 

"Both of us," he said and got to his feet as well. "I want us to get past this, Sansa."

"You've nothing to get past," she said with a bitter laugh. "You lied to me so that I would wed you, and then you went off to battle still leaving me in the dark, and I had to find out from one of Daenery's advisers what you'd done. Imagine how it must have felt for me to learn while I was sick with worry over whether you would return to me, and whether or not I was with child from our wedding night, I find out all that you had done while away. When I said to be smarter than father and Robb, I did not mean for you to lay with her!"

He reached for her and Sansa jerked away from him, eyes blazing. "Do. Not. _Touch_. Me."

His eyes went wide and he reached for her again only to have her slap his hands away. 

Jon gaped at her. "Sansa!"

"Tell me again how you thought only of me when you were inside her. I saw her, saw how beautiful she was—"

"No one is more beautiful than you," he rasped. 

"Is that a lie, too?" she asked, her voice rising. 

"Sansa, no, Gods—" He took a step toward her and she backed away quickly. "Sansa, stop!" 

Jon kept pursuing her and Sansa kept backing away. "Did she get on her knees for you? Did you take her like a wolf? Did you kiss her the way you kiss me? Did you moan her name and tell her how beautiful she was?!" 

"No! Gods, Sansa, stop!” He lunged at her and grabbed her to him, winding his arms around her and pinning her arms to her sides. “Stop, sweet girl,” he said softly, desperately. “Please.”

Sansa shut her eyes tight, willing the tears not to come. Willing herself not to go down this path…

“Tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me how you made love to her.”

“It wasn’t love!” he exclaimed and held her tighter. 

“Tell me. Did you sup from her womanhood?”

“No, Gods, Sansa—”

She struggled against him and managed to free herself. “Tell me. I want to know how you laid with her. I want to know how you touched her, how you looked at her. I want to know if you liked being inside her, if it felt good. If you wanted more.”

He started to cry, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Why are you crying?” she asked mockingly, gaining strength from his weeping. _Break for me break for me break for me!_

“Wouldn’t you want to know if it was me?” she sneered. 

He looked at her sharply. “Sansa, don’t.”

“Sansa, don’t,” she mocked. “Come now, wouldn’t it drive you mad to wonder how I felt if I laid with someone else? If I enjoyed it? If I kissed them the way I kiss you? If I moaned for them? If I peeked for them? If I cried out for more? If I touched every inch of—”

“Stop!” he roared. “Shut your mouth, Sansa, damn you to the Seven Hells, stop right now!”

He was infuriated. Beyond infuriated. He was shaking with black rage, the same look on his face now as when he’d been beating Ramsay to a pulp. 

“The thought of me laying with another man hurts, doesn’t it?” She felt triumphant at how just the thought of it drove him mad. “Imagine then, how it feels for me knowing you laid with another woman.” She glared at him, curled her lip at him. “After Ramsay raped me again and again, you were my last great hope. You made me trust you. You made me believe in you. I had lost all hope in trusting any man ever again. You fought for me, you fought for our home, and you made me love you. And then you betrayed me, you betrayed the North, and you _lied_ to me.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks again. “Sansa,” he croaked. 

She lifted her chin, eyes narrowed, hands at her sides as she held herself tall and straight. “How did you touch her?”

“I barely did,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He hung his head. “I’m not.”

“You managed to get hard for her though. Did she get on her knees for you?”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“And you liked it.”

“Sansa—”

“Say it,” she demanded. 

He shook his head. 

“Say it.” 

“No.”

Say it. _Say it_!!”

“Yes, I liked it! I liked what she did!”

It felt like getting hit by the Kingsguard in King’s Landing all over again. The wind was knocked out of her and she stumbled backwards as though he had struck her. 

Jon darted forward and she shook her head and backed up more. “Don’t,” she gasped. “Don’t touch me.”

“Sansa, please,” he begged. He sounded so ruined. She didn’t take any joy in it this time. By ruining him she had ruined herself, too. 

She turned and ran, the cold whipping against her face, tears nearly blinding her as she ran and ran and ran. 

For once, she didn’t hear Jon calling after her. And when she looked over her shoulder, she found him kneeling in snow, hunched over, his face buried in his hands and his shoulders shaking. 

Still, she felt no victory. 

There was no victory in heartbreak.


	10. Chapter 10

Sansa ran as if she could outrun behind her heartbreak, as if it was a living breathing thing that could overtake her. And in a sense it was, and already did. It had a name. It had a face. It never let her forget despite how much he wished she could.

She ran to the stables, though she hardly ever rode and sought a horse to take out. She needed to get away. To breathe. To feel a sense of freedom.

She needed to escape escape escape.

“Saddle me a horse,” she said to the stable boy. “And please do it quickly.”

The stable boy ran off and Sansa started to pace. She had to keep moving. She couldn’t stop moving. If she stopped somehow the pain would seep into her veins, into her bones—

“Sansa?”

She looked up and found Dickon emerging from a stall. His brows furrowed as he strode over to her. “Are you well?”

She looked up at him, at how handsome he was. How kind. How he was everything she had wanted (once upon a time).

_“You managed to get hard for her though. Did she get on her knees for you?”_

_He swallowed. “Yes.”_

_“And you liked it.”_

_“Sansa—”_

_“Say it,” she demanded._

_He shook his head._

_“Say it.”_

_“No.”_

_Say it. Say it!!”_

_“Yes, I liked it! I liked what she did!”_

Sansa surged forward, took Dickon’s face in her hands, and got up on her toes to kiss him. There was no finesse to the kiss. It wasn’t about doing it right. It was just about _doing_ it. It was about kissing a man that wasn’t Jon. If he could have his fun then by the Old Gods so could she.

Dickon tasted sweet. (Wasn’t revenge supposed to taste sweet?)

He was the one that broke the kiss. “Sansa,” he started.

Her eyes welled up in tears. She’d misread him earlier. He was just being kind. Gallant. He wished to help her, but he didn’t actually _want_ her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words spilling out in shame. “I didn’t – I shouldn’t have—”

He gripped her arms gently. “Will you tell me _why_ you kissed me?”

She didn’t want to. “I wanted to,” she said. That was true. She did want to kiss him. The reasons why didn’t matter.

He frowned, studying her. “Is it Jon?”

“It’s always Jon,” she said bitterly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Dickon said softly. He shuffled closer to her and Sansa’s breath hitched. He leaned down and gently brushed a kiss across her lips. She licked her lips and resisted the urge to sway into him and kiss him again. But then he did. Again and again. He grabbed her hips, not ungently, and Sansa pulled away from him, shaking her head.

She had felt herself getting carried away and hadn’t expected that. It made her feel…uneasy. (Had Jon felt uneasy at all with the Dragon Queen?)

“Your Grace?”

Sansa moved quickly past Dickon and went to the stable boy who held the lead attached to a brown mare. “Will she do, Your Grace?” the stable boy asked.

Sansa nodded. “Yes, she’ll do perfectly.” She looked at him sternly. "You saw nothing."

The stable boy looked puzzled and Sansa wondered if perhaps he truly had seen nothing. Oh, well. He thanked her just the same and offered to help her up.

“I’ll help her,” Dickon said and came over to her. “Thank you.”

Shrugging, the stable boy wandered off. 

"Would you like company?" Dickon asked as he helped Sansa up on her horse. 

"I don't think that's wise," she said with a frown. "If Jon knew you were with me that could cause problems for you and for Sam. I do not wish that."

"He can't fault me for being friendly. I could tell him I'm just looking after you in his absence."

"I'll take a guard," she said, though she preferred to not take one at all. A guard would, however, keep his distance from her and she would not be required to speak to him. _It will drive Jon mad wondering where I am_ , she thought, _and I wish to not have to entertain anyone at all. Even one as kind as Dickon._

"I'll fetch one for you," he said and marched from the stables. 

With a kick to her horse, Sansa began her afternoon adventure. 

xxxxxxxx

Jon let the cold seep into him. He deserved it. He was the worst sort of man. What had he done?

(Everything Sansa said he did.)

And what had he become?

(A liar. A monster.)

Getting up off his knees, Jon wondered if heartache could travel to other parts of his body. He ached all over. Death would be a kindness compared to the pain he felt knowing how he had hurt Sansa. 

He felt as though his guts had been spilled out on the snow. Hurting the woman he loved more than his own life made his bones feel brittle.

It was hard to breathe as he staggered out of the Godswood.

He hadn’t known all she’d carried with her. Hadn’t known the torment of her mind. She had never asked the details before; she had just wanted to be rid of him.

(She would never be rid of him.)

Jon thought, stupidly, if he loved her enough and could make her love him again, she would forget. That they would both forget and just put it behind them.

(Would he have been able to forget?)

_“Come now, wouldn’t it drive you mad to wonder how I felt if I laid with someone else? If I enjoyed it? If I kissed them the way I kiss you? If I moaned for them? If I peeked for them? If I cried out for more?”_

Just the thought of Sansa with another man was enough to drive Jon to his knees again.

He’d kill any man who touched her. Any man who dared to take her from him. Pain seized his chest. He’d driven her away; he’d broken her heart, and he felt crushed under the weight of that knowledge.

Blindly, Jon made his way back to the castle. He needed to find her. He needed to say he was sorry. He needed to beg and plead –

“Jon?”

Jon looked up and found Sam frowning at him. “Are you well?” his friend asked.

“Sansa,” Jon gasped. “Did she come this way? Have you seen her?”

“I – I saw her pass through the gates of Winterfell,” Sam said. “She was on horseback.”

Fear gripped him. “She—she left?”

“I’m certain she will be back, Jon. Perhaps she just wanted to ride through Wintertown.”

Jon stormed off toward the stables. Sam followed, running after him. 

"Jon, do you really need to go after her?" Sam asked gently. 

Jon stopped and spun to face his friend, glaring at him. "What do you mean by that, Sam?"

Sam's brow furrowed and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands fidgeting with his cloak. "I just mean that perhaps Sansa wanted a bit of time alone."

"She could leave me," Jon muttered and stormed off again. 

"Do you know that?" Sam asked, hurrying after him, slightly out of breath. "Without provisions? A plan? I'm sure she even had the wherewithal to take a guard with her. Why would she leave you?"

Jon stopped again, tears in his eyes, and he shouted. "You know why she'd leave me! You know what I did!"

"Jon, she hasn't left you. She's gone for a ride is all," Sam said calmly, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. 

"Sansa doesn't just _go_ for rides, Sam."

"She has now. I--I think you need to give her this time alone."

Jon clenched his jaw. "What are you getting at Sam? Just say it."

"I believe I am. She needs time alone. It would be good for both of you I think to have a bit of time apart."

"What if she's hurt?"

"There isn't a soul in Wintertown who does not know who she is if something were to happen. Nor is there a soul that would _let_ anything happen to her. Sansa is not foolish; she wouldn't put herself in harm's way."

"To spite me she might," Jon said. If he was clothing; his stitches would be ripping at the seams. 

"Let's say we go inside and perhaps have some ale and some luncheon?"

Jon gazed longingly towards the stables and then back at his friend. Everything in him longed to find Sansa, to bring her back home, to try and make things right. 

However, perhaps Sam was right. She needed time away. He needed time to think. To plan. To think on how to make everything up to her. 

"If she's not back in an hour I'm going searching for her," he said. 

"How about two hours? Before dusk certainly."

Jon didn't agree, nor did he disagree. Instead, he allowed Sam to lead him into the castle for that ale and luncheon he promised. 

xxxxxxxxx

Sansa treated herself to sweat meats and other little treats, including some fabric for a new dress while riding through Wintertown. The people were quick to show off their wares to her, and she had fun talking with them. It felt good to not have Jon beside her. (It felt good to think he might be going mad with worry.) It felt good to be free, though admittedly she did often look over her shoulder thinking any minute he would disrupt her fun. Her guard was near, but yet distant enough for her to be able to pretend he wasn't there. He did make his presence known a few times when some of the shopkeepers grew a little aggressive in wanting to show her something, but for the most part, he stayed in the distance. 

Afterwards, she rode to the Wolfswood and meandered through, stopping only once to have more treats and feed the horse some oats. Just before dusk, Sansa made her way back to Winterfell. 

As soon as she passed through the gates, she saw Jon, standing on the ramparts, looking down at her. Sam was with him and saying something, but Jon stormed off, ignoring his friend. 

Sansa felt a thrill course through her. Could she deny him further? 

She climbed down from her horse and called for the guard to take her horse to the stables and she ran, flushed with the excitement of this new game. She ran into the castle and through the winding steps, and just as she rounded a corner and thought perhaps she might be safe from Jon, there he was. She slammed into him and he caught her by the arms and shook her. 

"Where the Seven Hells did you go?" he roared. 

"Let go of me," she hissed, struggling against his hold. 

"Answer me!"

"I went into Wintertown. I went to the Wolfswood." She smiled triumphantly. "I went _away_ from _you_!" 

He yanked her against him, his gray eyes black, his expression dark and foreboding. "You will never do that again," he growled. 

"Why not?" she sneered. "Afraid I'll find a lover?"

He roared again, reminding her of one Daenerys's dragons. He pulled her with him down the hall, causing her to nearly stumble over her own feet in his haste. 

She was in it for it now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone! :)

Jon all but shoved Sansa into their bedchamber and slammed the door shut behind him. She spun on him, eyes gleaming. "What are you going to do to me?" she asked, her pink lips spreading into a smile. "Are you going to fuck me now? Stake your claim on me? Show me who I belong to?"

He stared at her, breathing hard, and said nothing. 

Sansa sauntered over to him and placed her hands on his chest. She looked up at him through her lashes and smiled coquettishly. "Will you fuck me like you fucked her?"

Jon pushed her away from him. "Dammit, Sansa, no."

"Why not? You liked it. You admitted that you did. Don't you want to reenact that time with her?"

His eyes filled with tears. "I don't want to reenact anything I did with her. I don't want to think about her. She has no place in this room with us."

"Oh, but she does have a place in this room with us! She's always here!"

"Not to me," he croaked. 

"Would that were true," Sansa murmured. 

"It is true!" he shouted. "You're the one that keeps her here. You're the one that puts her in between us!"

"How would you like me then?" she asked. "On my knees?" She knelt down before him, folding her hands demurely before her and bowing her head. "I am ready to take you into my mouth, Your Grace."

"Sansa, don't do this," he said harshly. 

She looked up at him. "Do what? I am merely taking my punishment, Jon. It's what you want, isn't it? Me, on my knees, ready to serve you."

He bent down and snatched her up to her feet. "I don't want you to serve me. I want you to _love_ me, and I only want to love _you_."

"Show me then," she whispered. "Show me how you love me."

He gripped her to him and claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss. Sansa broke it and ran her fingers through his hair. "Gentle...gentle..."

He moaned, looking almost hopeful by her soothing tone, and kissed her again. Gently this time. Sweetly. He trailed kisses down her neck and reached around to tug at the fastening of her dress. She heard a button pop off. 

He dragged her dress down and ripped her shift down the middle. She laughed. "This is not gentle, Jon."

"I don't care," he growled. 

He left hot and frantic kisses along her collarbone, her chest, and then sucked one breast in his mouth and flicked his tongue against it again and again. He let it go with one last suck and then treated the other breast to the same attention. 

He pulled back, looking at her heatedly and began tugging his clothes off. "Finish undressing," he told her. "Do it now. I need you."

She tugged her dress down further, letting it pool at her feet. She then discarded the shreds of her shift and her small clothes. She stood bare before him, watching him undress. His hands trembled. His breathing was heavy. All the tell-tale signs were there: he wanted her desperately. 

He yanked her to him and lifted her up, placing her on the bed. "Lay back against the pillows, my love," he murmured. 

Sansa complied, laying back, lifting her hair and spreading it out on the pillows beneath her. She bent her knees and shifted them to the side, showing him one curved cheek of her arse. He liked playing with her arse sometimes, stroking it, slapping it, and gripping it tight when he fucked her like a wolf. 

She reached out one arm to him and he came to her eagerly, his eyes full of lust and love. He spread her legs and lay between them. All urgency was gone now, and all there was now was sweetness and gentleness. He stroked a hand along her body, watching the path it took. Sansa shivered and his smile was tender. He kissed her passionately and she felt his cock nudge at her thigh. 

He reached down and placed himself at her opening and surged inside her, taking her swiftly. 

Sansa gasped and Jon nuzzled under her chin. He set a slow rhythm, as though he had all the time in the world for this. Sansa gripped his hair and tugged lightly. Jon lifted his head and kissed her and she drew him down, his cheek against hers, her hands tangled in his black curls. 

She kissed his ear and then whispered. "Did she feel like this?"

He stiffened and tried to move his head away, but Sansa wouldn't let him go. She gripped his hair tighter and continued to whisper to him. "Was she wet for you? Tight? Did she moan your name? Did you moan hers? Did you tremble for her the way you tremble for me?"

Jon shoved his hands into the bed and pushed himself away from her. His eyes were wide, looking down at her as though he didn't know who she was... _what_ she was. 

( _I am a wolf_.)

His cock hung between his legs, only half hard now, glistening from her wetness, and he scrambled off the bed as though he couldn't get away fast enough. 

Sansa climbed off the bed slowly, watching him all the while. She grabbed her robe off the hook and slipped it on. She then picked up her dress, her small clothes, her shift, and her shoes. 

They stood there, facing each other, watching each other silently. 

"Remember that you broke me first," she said, and then slipped out of the room. 

She shut the door behind her and waited, listening.

Jon started to cry. 

Sansa smiled, and then made her way to her rooms. 

xxxxxxxxx

Jon felt raw and exposed. As though there was a gaping and open wound where his heart had been. Sansa was feasting on it, no doubt, sucking the blood dry from it, tearing it to shreds like the wolf she was. 

Dragons had fire. Wolves had cunning. 

(Where was his cunning?)

A dragons fire could be snuffed out. 

It was the wolf who had just snuffed out his. 

(Where was his wolf?)

His blood felt like ice in his veins and it hurt to breathe. 

(Did she take all the air with her?)

He needed...

help.

He dressed himself, angry at with himself for his shaking hands. 

he'd killed her  
he'd killed her  
he'd killed her

(He'd killed himself.)

Once he was dressed, he stopped short of the door and began to sob. 

The swords of his brothers stabbing him didn't hurt this much. 

Gathering himself together the best he could, Jon pulled the door open and made his way to Sam. He needed a friend. Advice. Counsel. Help. 

Gilly stood on the other side when he rapped on the door and her smile fell. "Can we help you, Jon?"

"Sam," he said hoarsely. 

"Here!" Sam said as he came up behind Gilly, smiling. His smile fell, too. 

"May we speak?" Jon asked and glanced at Gilly. "Alone?"

Sam nodded. "Of course, of course. Do you....need anything?"

_Something to kill the pain_ , Jon thought. _Something to undo what I did._

"No," he replied. 

Sam stepped out into the hall, and Jon led the way back to his solar. The walking was good for him. He needed to walk, to remind himself that he was a living breathing creature. He felt dead inside.

(Is this how Sansa feels?)

When they reached his solar, Jon waved Sam in and they sat together at his table. 

"Are you well, Jon?" Sam asked softly. "I thought you'd..." he cleared his throat and shifted on his seat. "I thought you'd be with Sansa."

Jon looked up at his friend. "I'm a monster," he croaked. 

Sam's eyes went wide. "Jon - no!"

"I am," Jon said. "I know I am. Sansa can't forgive me and I can't forgive myself." He started to cry yet again. "I want her back, Sam. She's the only thing in this cold world that I want. _I need her_. I'm going mad without her and I keep hurting her, hurting myself - help me, please. Help me get her back. Help me make it right. I don't know what to do. I've lost my way...I don't know who I am anymore. _Help me_."

Sam sighed and nodded. "You're ready to listen."

Jon nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I'm ready."

xxxxxxxxxx

That afternoon in the Godswood, Sansa had felt pain in hurting Jon. Seeing him so ruined had stabbed her clean through the heart. 

Somewhere along the way though, things had changed. 

Now she felt _euphoric._

(As long as she ignored that twinge of pain and doubt poking her and poking her and poking her.)

She had her maid help her dress and when she was finished, she strode her way down the hall to Dickon's room and scratched at his door. She felt bold and daring, as though she could smite someone with just a look. 

When Dickon's door opened, she smiled beatifically at him. 

"Are you well?" he asked. "I heard...well, that is I heard you and Jon shouting."

"Oh, I am quite well, Dickon. I have everything well in hand, I assure you."

"Did you enjoy your time away from the castle?"

"I did." She looked up at him hopefully. "May I come in?"

He frowned. "Jon..."

"I will handle Jon," she said, a bit darkly.

Dickon arched a brow. "Will you now?"

"Trust me," she said confidently. 

Dickon stepped aside. "Then by all means. Come in."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is all over the place...mainly because Sansa is.

“I personally saw to making sure your bedchamber was comfortable,” Sansa told Dickon as she stepped inside his room.

"You did well," Dickinson said in a low rumble. 

Sansa heard the door shut and she felt a surge of panic and unease. What was she doing? (What would her lady mother say?) In the hall she had been so certain of herself; victorious in how she had felled Jon. She had thought to visit Dickon and kiss him again in private rebellion. 

Now…now…

“Sansa?”

“Yes?” she asked softly.

“Would you like to tell me what you’re doing here?”

He was close behind her now, she could practically feel him at her back. Tears welled up in her eyes, frustrated that she didn’t know anymore. She felt as though she’d jumbled up the steps of a dance and could not find her way back. 

( _What are you doing, you little fool? Jon would have his head!_ )

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I thought I knew.”

Gently, he placed a hand on her arm and urged her to turn around. She stared down at his hand on her arm. He didn’t grip her. He didn’t yank and push her about. Dickon was so gentle…gentle…

“Perhaps I could help you?” he asked softly.

She nodded. She knew what he meant to do and she was going to let him despite knowing the risks.

He kissed her; tentatively, as though learning the shape of her lips and how they moved under his.

The kiss deepened with a flick of his tongue against the seam of her lips, and his taste was in her mouth. He tasted like ale and kissed her with restrained passion. Sansa knew the difference quite well.

Hoping to break his restraint, Sansa reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair. He moaned, but still did not give in to his passion.

(Did he have any? Perhaps not for her?)

He broke the kiss, breathing heavy, and smiled as he tucked some hair behind her ear. “Has he ever treated you with the care you deserve?” Dickon asked quietly.

(Yes.)

“It’s been so long I don’t even remember.”

“I should care about being used,” he murmured and bent his head. He brushed his lips across hers, a whisper of a kiss Sansa barely felt. “But I don’t.”

He kissed her again and Sansa pressed her lips firmer against his. _Harder_ , she thought. _Deeper. Possess me. Make me yours._

He broke the kiss and she was struck with the sense that perhaps she’d done something wrong. She looked up at him in question and he smiled as he caressed the side of her face. “Sweet Sansa, you’re unused to being cared for.”

She was, wasn’t she?

(She was broken.)

“I’ll treat you the way you deserve,” Dickon whispered.

She blinked. _The way she deserved._

What did she deserve?

She pushed out of his arms. “I should return to my chamber. Goodnight, Dickon.”

He said her name, but Sansa paid him no mind as she left his chamber and ran to her own. 

xxxxxxxx

"What do I do?" Jon asked miserably. "Where do I begin?"

"Has something new happened?"

"She is tormenting me," Jon said, burying his face in his hands. "She kept after me and after me, wanting to know if I liked what...what she did."

"Did you answer her?"

Jon lifted his head, tears in his eyes. He nodded. "Yes," he said hoarsely. 

"And what did you say?"

"I said yes."

"Jon...why?" Sam sounded a mix between horrified and bewildered. 

"She wouldn't stop until I said it! I don't think she would have accepted any other answer!"

Sam sighed. "Have you never talked about what happened with Daenerys?"

"No. I tried at first, but Sansa didn't want to hear it. She accused me of lying. And I didn't _want_ to tell her about laying with Daenerys. I didn't want Sansa to know anything we'd done, and I wanted it all behind me. Behind us. I only wanted to show Sansa that it was her I loved. Her I needed. Her I did everything for."

"She never asked what had gone on between the two of you?"

"No. She was too busy pushing me as far away from her as possible to bother," Jon said bitterly. 

"That was a mistake," Sam murmured. "The not knowing ate at her. She has built it up in her mind as something greater than it was. Unless...it meant something more to you than you've let on?”

Jon glared at Sam. "No. It meant nothing to me. My only thought was to protect my family, to protect the North. I used her; plain and simple."

"An act such as that is not plain and simple, Jon. Surely you must know that. Especially considering she carried your child.”

Jon nodded, and more tears spilled down his cheeks. "It was difficult to learn about the babe after…having a child has been what I’ve wanted. But when I imagined it since I came back from the dead and was reunited with Sansa, it was her I saw having children with. Daenerys had sworn to me she was barren.”

“Do you think she tricked you?”

Jon shook his head. “I think she didn’t know for certain.”

“I am sure that knowing another woman carried your babe is difficult for Sansa.”

“When I tried to make love to her tonight, she asked me if she felt the same as Daenerys. If I moaned for her, if Daenerys moaned for me—"

"Yes, I think I have it," Sam said quickly, clearly not comfortable with hearing the intimate details. "Did you answer her?"

"I was horrified and stopped," Jon replied. "She said I broke her, Sam. How do I fix this? How do I put her back together? How do I put us back together?"

"You need to give her time and space to heal, Jon. She has questions, that much is obvious, and I think it best you answer her so that she knows the truth of what happened."

"You just said that I should not have told her I liked what Daenerys did to me."

Sam sighed. "Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps, for Sansa, it would help considering she thinks you are lying already. May I ask you a question, Jon?"

"Of course."

"Did you enjoy laying with the Dragon Queen?"

Jon sighed. "My body...my body was engaged, going through the motions of it, but my mind was not. She had to stroke me when I started to lose my hardness halfway through."

"Perhaps you should tell Sansa that."

Jon blanched at that. 

"If Sansa were ever with another man--"

Jon glared at him. "I'd kill him."

"Yes, I do believe you would, but would you wonder if she felt for him what she felt for you? If the experience was the same or different? If she...had trouble? I've thought about this extensively, Jon, and if it was Gilly who had lain with another man I'd want to know. No matter how much it pained me. I'd want to know so that I could stop making it worse in my head. If it was worse at any rate....but if she had genuine feelings for him, I'd want to know that, too. I wouldn't want to live a lie...a life of make-believe. You and Sansa have done that for far too long, and despite how she might not have wanted to know then, she does now. It's eating at her and eating at her, and now she is lashing out."

"She's been lashing out for a while," Jon mumbled. "I know she loves me, Sam. I _know_ Sansa. I've made a study of her since she arrived at Castle Black, and I've had time to learn all her moods and quirks. I know the difference between a Sansa that is indifferent and a Sansa who is not. She loves me, Sam, I can _feel_ it. It's just that there is this wall...this wall I can't climb. I could have sooner scaled the actual Wall than the one she's erected between us. I keep trying..."

"Stop trying."

"Excuse me?"

"Stop trying," Sam said. "The more you try, the taller and thicker that wall gets."

"It's a game, see," Jon said. "It has to be. A game to make me lose my mind. She knows it drives me mad when she denies me her heart."

"Yet you keep playing it."

Jon shrugged. "Playing means I have her attention at least. The day she ceases to pay me any mind is the day I lose her completely."

"And yet you suffocate her, Jon," Sam said carefully, cautiously. 

Jon's jaw tightened and he looked away. "Then what would you have me do? Let her do what she did today? Give her free reign to do what she wants so she can put herself in harm’s way just to spite me?”

“Sansa took a guard with her. She would not put herself in harm’s way just to spite you. She has no wish to be hurt either!” Sam’s voice had risen with each sentence. 

Jon held up a hand, knowing his friend was annoyed. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry.” He shut his eyes and sighed, and then opened them and looked at Sam again. “I’m not myself. I haven’t been for quite some time. This wasn’t the life I imagined after the war. I want that life. I want Sansa and all the things we’d planned. I want her love…without her…without her I’m not sure what I am. Who I am.”

“You’re Jon Snow. You’ve always been Jon Snow. Jon Snow was who she fell in love with. So, Jon Snow you need to be again.”

Jon Snow. He was Jon Snow. (And a Stark). 

“You must be patient, Jon,” Sam said, his eyes boring into Jon. Sam meant business. “You must give her room to breathe. You must give her space to heal. If you do not do those things, you _will_ lose her.”

Jon nodded solemnly, though he felt something akin to panic rise up within him. Could he do the things Sam suggested? Could he loosen his grip on her, though it wasn’t much of a grip, was it? She kept slip slip slipping away from him. 

And his sanity…

It had slipped completely. 

xxxxxxxxx

_Sansa was on a white horse and a knight was in front of her. She was holding onto him with all her might. She couldn’t see his face for his helmet was on, and she couldn’t tell who it was by the shape of him since he was in full armor._

_They were riding through the snow, galloping fast, and Sansa kept wanting to look over her shoulder though she knew that whatever was behind her would scare her._

_She looked anyway._

_Ghost, as big as the dragon flying just above him jumped up in the air and ripped the dragon down to the Earth by its neck. Blood spilled out in a gush like a river and Ghost looked at her with his red eyes and started bounding after her._

_She reached a hand out to the wolf._

She awoke just before Ghost could snatch her in his jaws. 

She blinked up at the canopy bed, breathing heavy. 

She felt as though there was an itch inside her that needed to be scratched, but she didn’t know where it was...Or maybe something was scratching to get out of her. 

She thought of Dickon’s handsome face and slipped her hand down to her cunt. She frigged herself as she thought of him holding her…kissing her…

throwing her down on the bed and possessing her  
taking her hard  
and fast  
and completely. 

_Jon._

With a cry, Sansa pulled her hand from her cunt, not allowing herself to peak. She rolled over, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

What had she become?  
What had he made her?


	13. Chapter 13

Sansa woke feeling as though she hadn’t slept at all. Her limbs felt heavy and just moving onto her back from her side exhausted her. She sighed heavily and entertained the idea of staying abed. She thought of the things she had to take care of, and nothing was so dire that they could not wait…  
Yet even as she thought it, she knew she would not stay shirk her duties. She would get up and do what she had to do, for she was the Queen in the North and her people would not cease needing her just because she didn’t feel like getting up.

She thought of Dickon, and how she'd kissed him twice. She thought of Jon and how she'd broken him twice. 

Shame filled her.

Then came Anger  
followed by Frustration  
and _How Dare You?_

Tears filled her eyes and clogged her throat. How dare Jon make her feel guilt for hurting him, for kissing Dickon, for taking control –

FOR WANTING TO MAKE HIM HURT AS HE HAD HURT HER.

She was the good girl.  
The sweet girl.  
The pretty girl with all the pretty courtesies.

Her courtesies had been her armor in King’s Landing. Her weapon. She didn’t have a Needle or a Longclaw, but she had her courtesies and they kept her alive. (But just barely). They’d been pounded into her head – do this, do that, Ladies do it this way, Ladies say it that way, Ladies are proper, Ladies are pure and chaste and kind –

 _None_ of that had served her with Littlefinger or Ramsay. Littlefinger had abused her trust and Ramsay had just abused her. 

Then there had been Jon. As if the Old Gods had sent him, he had made her trust that not everyone just wanted to find different ways to make her bleed. His words hadn’t slashed her. His fists hadn’t bruised her.

He was the One her father had promised – someone kind, and gentle, and brave. He held her and she was healed. He loved her and she could hear the strains of old songs again. Her heart beat for him; it beat his name.

Jon  
Jon  
Jon

And now it lay in tatters in her chest like ripped up parchment.

and she bled…  
and she bled…  
and she bled…

Why should she feel shame for her actions? For her words? Why should she feel shame that she’d cut her tongue sharp and used it to shred him? Why should she feel shame that she’d kissed another man when he’d gotten THAT WOMAN with child?

Her regret should not be in having kissed Dickon. No, it should be in wanting something from Dickon she should not want.

A Lady – nay, a QUEEN – should not want depravity. A queen should not want passion that tasted like darkness or desperation that carried madness with it.

Dickon had called her sweet. Sweet Sansa, he’d said. _Sweet Sansa..._

The girl she had been so long ago would have swooned at such an endearment. The woman she was now with all her sharp edges didn’t feel sweet.

But that was Jon. All Jon. He brought out the worst in her. It was him in her head telling her she’d wanted Dickon to kiss her harder and deeper, to claim her, to demand more and more and more from her until she was wrung dry and limp in his arms.

Joffrey, Littlefinger, and Ramsay had harmed her, but it was Jon who had broken her. Just as she’d let her guard down, just as she’d let him in, just as she loved and loved and loved him, and trusted and trusted and trusted him, he had shattered it all.

She didn’t want to be this way. She didn’t want to be Bitter Sansa, she wanted to be Sweet Sansa. She wanted to be the woman Dickon saw her as, not the mangled corpse she felt like. She wanted the sweetness back, she wanted the songs, she wanted to _believe_ again. Dickon was all the thing she had once wanted and _needed_ to want again.

Say goodbye, Bitter Sansa.  
Say goodbye, Jon.

Her shame dissolved (or so she told herself), and Sansa got up to greet the day head on. She would hold her head high. She would feel no remorse.

She would be kind (to Dickon)  
gentle (to Dickon)  
and strong (for herself).

xxxxxxxxxxx

Jon stared at his image in the cheval glass thinking he didn’t look quite as haggard as he thought he might. His insides were twisted and worn, but his outsides didn’t match. He didn’t look guilty. He didn’t look as pained as he felt. If he did, if Sansa could see it all like pockmarks upon his skin and had the proof right there before her eyes, would she be able to forgive him? 

He sighed, turning away from his image. Today he tried, as Sam had directed him, to give Sansa space. He'd started by breaking his fast in his room alone, though he'd heard from one of his servants that Sansa had not made it down to the Great Hall that morning either. 

Now he was ready for a counsel meeting, and he knew Sansa would be there with him. She rarely, if ever, missed one. He was glad of it, not just because he knew for at least a few hours he knew where she was - and that was right beside him - but because he relied on her input. He left the bedchamber and started down to the Great Hall, nervous to see his lady wife. 

She had once pleaded with him to not make the same stupid decisions as Ned and Robb. He'd taken those words to heart - only, of course, after he'd realized his error in going to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys in the first place. He'd quickly realized that he had to play the Northern fool to the hilt and make Daenerys trust him. It wasn't that hard once he'd realized she was attracted to him. He'd used that to make sure she pledged herself to his cause. And it had worked. 

Now he couldn't help but wonder if there had been another way. Something else he could have done, something smarter that didn't involve him having to fuck her. Yes, he'd done the same with Ygritte, but he had actually loved her. That's what he told himself to take the sting away from the fact that yes, he did hurt her just the same by his deceit. 

But with Daenerys...Gods. He'd done two things he'd swore he'd never do: 1. cheat on the woman he loved and 2. father a bastard. Granted, that bastard had never seen the light of day...

And that was a whole other problem. He'd be lying if he said that didn't hurt. A child he had conceived had perished before it could have even been born. He hadn't been lying when he told Sam that it was Sansa he imagined having children with; he wanted that. Desperately. But still, there was that pain he had for having lost a child he'd help conceive. Even if that child could have turned out to be a monster like Joffrey considering Daenerys was his aunt. 

He shuddered still to think of _that_ aspect. 

All he kept asking himself after Sam had left the previous night was: Did he regret what he'd done?

Yes. 

But also no. 

Yes, because again - could there have been another way? A better way? Also, he'd cheated on the woman he loved. And he'd learned from how Catelyn Stark had treated him that it could turn one cold and hard. It was true, she had forgiven Ned (and for something he hadn't even done in the end), but it was obvious that it still hurt. Otherwise, she wouldn't have gone out of her way to make him feel like such an outsider. 

And no, because he'd had Daenery's dragons. She'd helped win the final war against the Night King. He wished he had not lost Arya and Bran in the process, but Sansa had been kept safe and the casualties had been less than if they had no dragons at all. The North had survived. His people had survived. 

How could he regret that? 

As he turned the corner and saw Sansa taking her seat at the head of the table, he was reminded why he regretted what he'd done. And also, why he didn't. 

Her gaze flickered to him as he began to walk toward the table, and her lips pursed. She looked away, and said something to Lyanna Mormont. Jon sat down beside her and the Hall fell quiet. 

The meeting began. 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"A feast, Jon? Now?" 

They were the first words Sansa had spoken directly to him since he'd arrived at the Great Hall. 

"You heard Lord Manderly. We all need some cheer."

"He finds cheer each time a pie is put in front of him," Sansa muttered. 

"Not up to the task of preparing a feast? I could enlist some help."

She looked indignant by the suggestion as she stood. "No, I am up to the task, Your Grace. I suppose I am just not feeling very festive."

He hated it when she called him 'Your Grace'. But, he refused to call attention to it. Instead, he said as lightly as he could muster, "Perhaps a spot of fun and a dance with your husband could help that." 

"Mmm...perhaps not," she said and marched from the table. 

It took everything in him not to go after her and demand where she was off to and what her plans were for the day. He didn't like not knowing. And he didn't like the idea that she could take off into Wintertown again. 

He stared after her, clutching the armrests until his knuckles turned white. And, just as she got to the door, she turned her head and looked back at him. He couldn't make out her expression, but if he had to guess, he would say it was a look of curiosity. No doubt she was wondering why he didn't go after her. 

Now he wondered if she wanted him to.


	14. Chapter 14

Sansa didn’t understand what was happening. Why didn’t Jon come after her? Or shout for her to come back? Why did he just let her go? 

As she made her way down to the kitchens to discuss with Cook the menu for the upcoming feast that Lord Manderly just had to have, she felt completely flummoxed by this new development. 

_What is he up to?_ she wondered suspiciously. It had to be a game. A new game. He was playing with her; it was the only explanation. He was probably planning to punish her again. Lock her up in their chamber for days, but only after he made her believe he would actually let her walk out of the Great Hall without letting him know exactly where she’d be and what she’d be doing, including what time they would meet later so that he could have his way with her. 

WHY HAD HE JUST LET HER GO?!

It didn’t make any sense, and the more she went over it and over it and over it, the more she wondered if _this_ was the new game. To drive her mad with wonder. 

Or…

Maybe he thought some distance would give her time to miss him and long for him. 

(Or maybe he was tired of her). 

Maybe he had no fight left in him.

Maybe she _had_ completely broke him. 

He hadn’t seemed all that odd at the meeting. A bit subdued perhaps, but then Jon was prone to bouts of broodiness. 

Something was amiss. He was probably going to leap out at her at some point and drag her off to their bedchamber. 

_What is it what is it what is it you want?_

She hated this wondering and this... _unsettled_ feeling. It almost felt as though she’d left her bedchamber without her shoes. And that was the most unsettling of all. How his behavior was now considered normal and having him act differently felt --

No. She wouldn’t even think it. 

(Was he tired of her?)

She had to stop this or she wouldn’t be able to think or do anything else but wonder wonder wonder….

So, she focused on the task at hand: preparing for a feast and put (tried to) the rest out of her head. 

**********

Jon bent over the table in his solar and breathed heavy. “That was hard, Sam. I don’t think you understand how hard it was to just let her walk away from me like that. I don’t know where she is or what she’s up to…”

“It needed to be done.”

“What if she’s leaving for Wintertown right now? What if she’s making her plans to leave me as we speak?”

“Most likely she’s wondering why you just let her go without a word.”

Jon looked up at his friend and tossed him a small and hopeful smile. “I did entertain the idea that maybe she wanted me to go after her.”

“Could be. More like she was confused though. But you know what that means?”

“No, what?”

“It means she’s wondering what you’re up to. And if she’s wondering what you’re up to then you’re not far from her thoughts. Not like you think.”

“What do I do now?” Jon rasped as he slowly sank back into his chair. He didn’t like this feeling. He felt untethered, without anything to anchor himself to. 

“You do your duties. You let Sansa do hers. And you see her later.”

“How much later?”

“Before we sup, perhaps?”

“How did this happen to me, Sam?” Jon whispered. Sam sighed and sat back in his chair, studying him. He looked rather sad and Jon wondered if there was any hope for him at all. He braced himself for Sam’s answer. “Give it to me honest.” 

“I think you’ve been through much since you left for The Wall, Jon. Battle upon battle. You died. You lost your family one by one except for Sansa. You became a king and that yielded a heavy burden. The weight of those you loved and lost are on your shoulders. Your uncle was a man you looked up to, and you want to do right by him and by those that passed after him. Sansa is the only one you have left, and I think you cling to her because of that--”

“I cling to her because I love her. In this cold dark world she is the only thing that makes any sense to me. She is the only... _light_ I have. When I was killed and brought back, I had nothing. My brothers had betrayed me. Ygritte was dead. I didn’t know where the rest of my family was and even if they were alive. When Sansa showed up at Castle Black…” He shook his head slowly, remembering what it was like to see her. “I had been brought back, but I didn’t feel alive until I saw her. She was the one that brought me back, Sam. And now? Now I feel like I am dying all over again. This time slowly, day by day. The only time I feel at peace is when she responds to my touches, and I know in those moments, deep in my gut, that she still loves me.” He ran a hand down his face. “Then it’s gone in the next instant when she withdraws from me and I’m a man lost and trying so hard to be found again.”

“But clinging to her as you do is suffocating her, Jon. She needs room to breathe and to heal. You both do. I don’t think either of you properly mourned all you’d lost. The battle with the Night King was over, you lost Bran and Arya, and Sansa found out about what you did with the Dragon Queen. From then on it you trying to pull Sansa to you, and her trying to push away from you.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Jon said bitterly. 

“Do you ever wonder what Ned Stark would think now if he saw you and how you treated Sansa?”

Jon looked at his friend sharply and could see the fear in Sam’s eyes that perhaps he’d said too much and gone too far. 

Truthfully, Jon’s wanted to tell him to shut his mouth and get out of his solar. How dare he bring up Ned like that? How dare he…

make him think. 

Make him pause and  
take a breath. 

Jon leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes.

He dogged her every step. He demanded her submission. He punished her for denying him by making her do depraved things… (and she did them so well). 

He opened his eyes and looked at a worried Sam. “He’d have my head.”

“Your way hasn’t been working,” Sam said softly. “So let’s try this new way.”

“And if she continues to spit venom at me?”

“I suggest that you ask her what she wants to know. Sansa has to face it before she can get past it, that much is clear. She needs room to be angry. You’ve both avoided this for so long and it’s become too big to ignore now.”

Jon pushed up from his seat. He felt restless again. He wanted to find Sansa, hold her, kiss her...love her. He just wanted to love her and love her and love her. Tears stung his eyes and he pressed the heels of his palms into them. 

He walked away and went to a window. He looked outside, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of his wife. 

“I feel weak,” Jon said hoarsely. “When did I become this... ?”

“You had to be strong for a very long time for a lot of people, Jon. You can only take on so much before you crack under the weight and pressure of it all.”

“Sansa bore a lot, too,” Jon murmured. “And I’ve just added to it.” 

Sam didn’t argue with him on that. Jon sighed. “I’ll give her space then, and find her later. Much later.” He turned then and faced his friend. “I do have one question, Sam, and I want you to be honest with me.”

Sam looked confused. “Of course. What is it?”

“Have you been supplying Sansa with Moon Tea?”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Jon, no! I’ve done no such thing!”

“You can tell me the truth, Sam.”

“I am!”

He was telling the truth. He nodded solemnly. “Do you have any ideas who is?”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t, Jon, I’m sorry.”

Jon believed him. “So… how are we on salves? Our knights have been going through them quickly during training.”

Sam smiled. “I can make more. But that means ordereing some supplies.”

“Let’s discuss what you need then. I need a distraction.”

Sam was all too happy to provide one. 

xxxxxxxx

Sansa was on a mission to see about tapers when a hand shot out from a shadowed alcove and grabbed her. 

“Jon?” she asked breathlessly. 

The owner of the hand stepped into the light, smiling. 

“Dickon.”

“Aye,” he said. “It’s me. Have a moment?”

She nodded and allowed him to pull her into the alcove with him. He smiled down at her, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Are you well after last night?” he asked softly. 

Oh, that was right. She had run out on him the night before, probably confusing him. She’d been a bit distracted this morning and this afternoon so far though. Making plans for the feast (and wondering why Jon let her go), consulting with the seamstresses about how mending was going (and wondering why Jon let her go), meeting with the gamekeeper about traps (and wondering why Jon let her go), and now the tapers. 

She’d felt a jolt when Dickon had grabbed her and she’d thought it was Jon. She told herself it was because she had been expecting Jon to do something like that all day. 

“I am,” she murmured demurely and averted her eyes to Dickon’s chest. “Are you well, too?”

He put his finger under her chin and lifted it up so that she was looking at him. “May I kiss you again?”

She nodded, and when he kissed her softly, she felt disappointed.

“Dickon, would you do something for me?” she asked softly, leaning into him. 

“Anything,” he breathed. 

“Kiss me with all the passion you feel for me.”

He captured her lips again and it was better. But she still wanted more. She clutched at his tunic and pulled him into her. She licked her tongue into his mouth, showing him what she wanted and he responded in kind. 

When he broke the kiss, he looked down at her, eyes darkened with lust. “Seven Hells, Sansa,” he panted. 

She smiled, feeling triumphant that she had made him lose some control. (Had Daenerys made Jon lose control?)

Jon Jon Jon, always Jon Jon Jon!

Sansa pushed out of Dickon’s arms. “I must go. We can’t tarry too long lest we’re caught out.”

“When may I see you alone again?”

He was an eager thing wasn’t he? Sansa liked that. Her lips curved into a smile. “I’ll come to you,” she said and stepped close to him to rub her thumb across his lips. He tried to bite her thumb as she drew it away and she giggled. “Good day, Dickon,” she purred. 

She ducked her head out of the alcove and, upon seeing the coast was clear, she scurried out of it and ran down the hall feeling giddy. 

Feeling like a seductress.


	15. Chapter 15

Sansa settled under the Weirwood Tree and noticed by the tightening of her jaw and the set of her shoulders, just how tense she actually was. 

For the past three days, she and Jon would meet in the morning to go over petitions and other sorts of business, and then they would depart and go their separate ways. 

Jon would meet her at supper, but he did not visit her bedchamber. He didn’t even ask if he could - even at his worst he would still ask now and then. (Even if she answered no, he’d still come, but she guessed he liked the game in it all.)

_Troubled, sister?_

Sansa heaved a sigh and felt the tears come. She also hadn’t realized just how close to tears she’d been either until she heard Bran in her head. 

She missed her family all the time, but lately more than ever. 

She didn’t want to think about why. 

Dickon happened upon her in darkened alcoves and hallways and she felt giddy for those few minutes but then after...well, she felt rather empty. It felt akin to filling up on lemoncakes. She’d be sated for a time, but then soon enough she’d be hungry again. 

_Yes_ , she answered. _I suppose I am._

_What ails you?_

Tears spilled from her cheeks. _I miss you. I miss Arya. I miss Father and Mother and Robb and Rickon. I have felt so alone…_

(Jon doesn’t want me anymore.)

“Sansa?”

Her eyes snapped open and she found Jon coming toward her with a concerned look on his face. She wiped at her eyes. “What is it you want?” she asked tersely. 

He stopped before her, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Did something happen?”

“Tis nothing.”

Jon frowned and then gazed up at the Weirwood Tree. “Do you talk to Bran here sometimes?”

She looked at him. “You talk to him?”

“Aye,” he said. “Sometimes he answers.”

“Does he speak in riddles to you as well?” Sansa asked bitterly. 

He chuckled softly. “Aye. It’s rather frustrating, isn’t it?”

“Quite.”

“Is that what you were doing?” Jon asked as he sat down beside her. 

Sansa nodded, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. 

“Did he have anything good to say?”

“You interrupted.”

“Oh,” he ducked his head, sounding regretful. “I apologize.”

“It’s all right,” she sighed. 

She was startled by how this was the first real conversation they’d had in days, and the first conversation they’d had that didn’t involve some kind of bickering or Jon trying to weasel something out of her that she refused to give. 

It felt...odd. 

“I miss them,” Jon murmured. “Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon...my uncle. I think about them every day and miss them.”

“I miss them too,” she said softly. Sadly. (What are you doing? Why are you talking to him like this?)

“I sometimes expect Arya to challenge me to a sparring match,” Jon said with a soft laugh. “Or Rickon to come running out of nowhere, laughing so gayly as he did.”

“I miss Robb’s laugh. And how Father was always there, watching…I miss speaking with him.”

“You’re just like him, you know.”

She looked at him, shocked. “Pardon?”

“You favor your mother in looks, but it’s Father - Uncle Ned - that you’re most like.”

“No...people say that about you.”

“You have his patience. His kindness and fairness. He ruled the North well, but when he left he didn’t have a mind for politics. I’m like him in that way. You though, you learned from his mistakes. From Robb’s mistakes. And you are the ruler he was here, while safe in Winterfell. You could have ruled the Seven Kingdoms easily.”

She blinked, stunned. “I am not sure what to say to that.”

“You could just accept it for the compliment it was meant to be and say thank you.”

But she didn’t thank Jon. She didn’t feel she had much to thank him for…

“What are we doing?” she whispered, as though giving the question her full voice would shatter the moment despite the fact that she almost wanted to shatter it. 

“We are having a conversation,” he said gently. 

She looked at him shrewdly. “Do not patronize me.”

“I’m not, Sansa. I’m trying.”

“Trying what?”

He sighed. “To not make every interaction we have a fight. Or a twisted game.”

_Then what do you call this new game? Why are you not after me? What are you about, Jon?_

“And here I thought you enjoyed our games,” she said snidely. 

He sighed. “What is it you want from me, Sansa? Do you want to know more about my time with Daenerys?”

_Am I enough? Is there something she did that you want me to do? Do you make me do all the things she did?_

“I...want control,” she said. 

He looked at her. “How so?”

She stood, twisting her hands together, and looked down at him as he watched her curiously. “I say what goes. You take direction and orders from me, not the other way around. If I want you on your knees then you get on your knees. If I want you bent over taking that wooden phallus up your arse then you take it up your arse.”

His nostrils flared and Sansa waited for him to say no. To tell her he would never let her do those things to him, despite the fact that he did them to her. 

(And she peaked every time, too.)

Instead he said, rather breathlessly, with his eyes nearly black, “Yes.”

She nodded once, curtly. “Then I’ll see you tonight.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

It was late, supper had come and passed long ago, and Jon paced. 

And paced. 

And.

Paced. 

His hands shook, his heart raced - less with excitement and more from anxiety at this point. Was Sansa coming? She said she would. Had she changed her mind? Gods, he hadn’t been inside her in days, hadn’t spent more than a few minutes with her and he. was. _dying._

If she could see him now, shaking with need, would she still doubt him? Would she still believe that he cared more for Daenerys than her? Would she still believed he’d wanted Daenerys more?

(What did he have to do to prove to her that he had never loved Daenerys, and that he only ever yearned this much for her?)

He passed by the table that held the items they sometimes used in her punishments: the gray silk he used to tie her to the bedposts, the wooden phallus, the blindfold, and the strip of leather he used to spank her. 

He picked up the leather and shivered at the thought of her using it on him. He had thought about it plenty of times, but had never indulged - or rather, never let her indulge if she so wished. 

Shamefully, he admitted it was because he knew it might be dangerous to have the tables turned on him. What would she do to him if given free reign? 

(He was always aware that there was a storm inside her waiting to be unleashed.)

The difference now was he wanted so much to prove to her how much she meant to him. How much he loved her and wanted her and _trusted_ her as his wife and his Queen, that he would let her do anything - _anything_ \- if it meant that he could get his Sansa back. 

And, he had to admit, he liked the idea of it. Of being spanked. Of the phallus being used on him. There was something so forbidden about it that it made his blood run hot just thinking on it. 

He froze, and his breath caught when he heard the door squeak open behind him. He turned, and there she was, in in her robe, her long hair down and her blue eyes gleaming with something that should have worried him, but didn’t. 

She lifted her chin and he thought proudly, _My Queen._

She shut the door behind her and locked it. “Undress,” she ordered, clasping her hands together before her. “Fold your clothes neatly on the bench.”

With trembling hands, Jon undressed as quickly as he could, starting with his boots.

“Slow,” she said. “Do not rip your garments.”

“Yes, my Queen,” he said. 

“So formal,” she said with a little laugh. She cocked her head to the side. “I like it.”

“Then I shall keep calling you that,” he said. 

She sighed as he forced himself to slow down in his disrobing. And he made sure to fold his jerkin, his trousers, his small clothes, and his tunic.

“Really, Jon, you should have prepared by undressing already,” she said with a bit of irritation. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said hoarsely. 

“I said I would, did I not?”

“Yes, my Queen. I apologize.”

“Don’t let it happen again.”

(So this was to happen again?)

When he was bare before her, hard and straining, she moved closer and slowly made a circle about him, looking him up and down. He couldn’t stop shaking. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, touch her - 

“Go to the bedpost and lift your arms. Put your wrists against it.”

He nodded and hurried over, following her instructions. She came over, smelling of rosewater, and tied his wrists to it with the fabric. Jon panted. 

She petted him, running her fingers gently through his locks and he moaned and arched into her touch, “Gods,” he gasped. “I need you. I need your touch.”

“ ‘I need your touch’...?’

“My Queen,” he rasped. 

She ran her hand down his back slowly and he groaned, leaning into her. She pulled her hand away with a “Tsk Tsk” and Jon wanted to sob. “My Queen, I need you, please--”

“Stop talking.”

He clamped his mouth shut and looked at her. She narrowed her eyes as she ran her gaze over him. Her eyes finally alighted on his mouth and he knew she was thinking about kissing him and Gods, he wanted her to. Wanted it so bad he could taste her…

But then she turned abruptly away and went to the table. 

She picked up the strip of leather and Jon swallowed hard. He was in for it now. 

Snap went the leather against his arse and he cried out. She smiled and did it again and again and again. 

He hung his head, his cock hard and weeping, his arse on fire…

He loved it. He fucking _loved_ it. 

She hit him again and he whimpered. 

She didn’t speak as she walked away and put the leather back on the table. When he did this to her he always told her what a good girl she was, how perfect and beautiful. He crooned sweet things in her ear, telling her of his love and need for her. 

Sansa said nothing though. 

Her silence was deafening.

She untied him next and handed him a bottle of oil. “Tend to your arse,” she said flatly. 

He would always oil her up after. He would tend to her, make sure she had what she needed to be put to rights again. 

He swallowed back the lump in his throat and tended to applying the oil to his arse while Sansa disrobed and climbed up on the bed. She lay back against the pillows, looking like an indulgent Queen and Jon couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

“You’re so beautiful, my Queen,” he whispered. 

She spread her legs. “Show me how much you think so. Before you do though, bring the fabric.”

He nodded, grabbed the fabric from the table and went to the bed. He climbed on from the foot of it and looked up at her as he kneeled before her. “May I kiss your ankles and your legs, my Queen?”

“Yes,” she said and her voice shook a bit, belying the cool look she gave him. 

_She wanted his touch._

He handed her the fabric first and she looked at him, waiting. 

He kissed each ankle and made his way up her left leg, kissing and nibbling his way up. He heard her breath hitch, but when he looked up at her, her expression had not changed. He noted though, her flushed cheeks and her chest rising and falling quicker than before. 

He proceeded to do the same to her right leg - 

And then buried his mouth in her sweet wet pussy and shoved his tongue inside her as far as it would go. 

_I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you_ , he told her in his mind. _I’ve never loved anyone or anything as much as I love you. I worship you. You are my Goddess. You are my Queen. You are the love of my life._

He knew his words would not be welcome so he gave no voice to them, though it felt as though they were clawing to be let out, hanging there in the back of his throat demanding to be spoken. 

Instead, he sucked on her nub. He fucked her with his tongue. He lapped at her, nibbled on her. He tasted every inch of her cunt. He feasted on her as though he had been on the brink of death and only her sweet nectar could sustain him. He made her so wet from his mouth, from her dripping juices, and he kept on and on, even after she yanked on his hair and cried out. 

“Stop,” she gasped and pushed his head away. 

Jon panted as he rose. “I need more,” he rasped. “I need more of you. Let me touch you. Let me fuck you. Please, my Queen, please.”

She arched a brow, but made no move. “Tell me how much you want me, Jon. Make me believe it.”

He let loose with all the words that had been contained within him. The words dropped from his mouth and laid at her feet. She did nothing with them. Said not a word. Gave absolutely nothing away. 

He reached for her and she scrambled back away from him. 

“Don’t go,” he begged. “Please, Sansa, I need you, my sweet girl.”

“I’m not your sweet girl.”

“Yes, you are,” he insisted, feeling near tears. He missed her so much! He missed the way they were, their talks and their closeness. He missed her companionship and their camaraderie. He missed whispered secrets and laughter and teasing and planning for their future. “You’re my sweet girl always,” he said desperately. “You’re my Queen and my love and my life and my sweet girl.”

“Get on the bed on your back,” she said. “I’m going to tie you up again. And no more talking lest I bind your mouth, too.”

It was sweet misery to ache and to want and get so close only to come shy of the thing you truly wanted. 

He did as she asked because what else could he do? He was so desperate for this intimacy he would do anything she asked. 

She got up off the bed and grabbed the blindfold. His heart sank. No...no...He’d prefer she stuffed it in his mouth instead. She dropped it on the bed and took her time tying his wrists to the bedposts. Then she picked up the blindfold and blindfolded him. 

He wanted to sob. He wanted to beg for her to let him see her. (He should have never taken the blindfold out). 

But he kept quiet. 

She climbed atop him, straddled him, and rubbed his cock against her cunt. He groaned. 

And then he gasped when she took him inside her.

“Sansa,” he gasped. 

She tapped him on the mouth. “No speaking.”

Her hands rested on his chest and his skin soaked in the feel of her touching him.

His hands reached and his wrists ached. More words clogged his throat. 

_Fuck me. Ride me. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop, my love._

He planted his feet in the bed and fucked up into her. Wet. Hot. Snug. Her cunt grasped him - it felt as though it didn’t want to let him go. He might not have been able to speak, but he couldn’t stop the grunts and moans that escaped him. Nor could she completely stop hers. He heard her little chirps and sighs, but knew she was holding back. 

The scent of their coupling filled his nostrils and he breathed deep. The sound of their flesh slapping together reached his ears and he wanted to hear her scream. 

_I love you_ , he thought. _I love you so much, my sweet girl. I love your heart and your smile and you laughter. I love your clever mind. I love your body and your soul…_

_Give me everything._

_Give me everything._

_Give me everything._

_For all that I am  
is yours._

He was close. So close so close so close - 

She peaked, crying out almost in surprise, her cunt tightening around him. 

He let go with a roar, lifting his arse off the bed and pushing inside her as deep as he could go.

He fell back into the bed, depleted, and hoped she would let him go. Let him hold her. Let him kiss her. 

“Sansa,” he croaked. 

She climbed off of him and he felt a moment’s panic - would she actually release him?

He heard her moving about, heard the rustle of clothing. “Sansa, please, love, let me hold you,” he begged. “Come to bed, my sweet. Please.”

He felt her untie one wrist and he reached for her. “Sansa.”

Then he heard the door open and shut. He tore off the blindfold. “Sansa!” he shouted. “Don’t go!”

She was gone.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever! I know it's only been a week or so since I updated anything, but I feel hella rusty just the same. Here I am, trying to move the plot forward...
> 
> Warning: For those not up to reading Sansa/Dickon, they don't have sex, but he does attempt to get her off here. If you don't want to read that, skip to the next bit...

Sansa awoke the next morning with her head pounding. It was never a good idea to fall asleep crying. 

She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the canopy above her. She’d fallen asleep with Jon’s words in her head while she’d taken control of him. She could hear his voice, how desperate he sounded, pleading with her, begging her to let him love her and love her and love her. 

She saw the mournful expression on his face; she saw the need and his pain…

And she hated him for making her feel sorry for him. 

_“I need more. I need more of you. Let me touch you. Let me fuck you. Please, my Queen, please.”_

_“Don’t go. Please, Sansa, I need you, my sweet girl.”_

_“You’re my sweet girl always. You’re my Queen and my love and my life and my sweet girl.”_

_“Sansa, please, love, let me hold you. Come to bed, my sweet. Please.”_

She shut her eyes tight as if that would make him go away. It didn’t. 

A soft rap came at the door followed by an urgent whisper of her name. It was Dickon. Sansa climbed out of the bed and reached for her wrapper. This wasn’t proper, but it wasn’t as though anything she’d done thus far was. 

He looked worried when she opened the door and he pushed her inside and shut the door behind him. “Are you well? I heard Jon shouting for you last night.”

This made her burst into tears. She couldn’t stop it. Standing there, looking so gallant, the representation of every dream she’d ever had of knights, of strength, chivalry and bravery, with the added bonus of being so very gentle with her, Dickon was the embodiment of all she should want and all she should have. 

But it was Jon who plagued her. It was Jon in her head and Jon she’d craved inside her. Oh yes, she had wanted control of him, but she’d also just wanted him and HOW DARE HE forget her? HOW DARE HE cast her aside? HOW DARE HE ignore her?

She could not abide it. 

Last night, she’d made him pay for that slight. Yet it felt now that it was her who paid. 

Dickon took her in his arms and held her close. He whispered soft words, gentle words, meant to soothe her. He thought Jon had hurt her, when it had been her that had hurt _him_. 

But would Dickon understand that? 

No. 

Because Dickon pure and kind and too good too good too good. 

“What can I do?” he asked softly. 

“Nothing,” she whispered. 

“Let me do something, Sansa, please.”

Now he sounded desperate, and she found she rather liked it. (What would he do for her? How far would he go?)

She looked up at him. “What would you like to do?”

“I’d like to run him through,” Dickon said bitterly. 

“You can’t,” she whispered. _This is dangerous. I’m putting his life in danger_ , she thought. 

He looked down at her soulfully, his blue eyes darkening. “Then let me take away all the bad he wrought on you.”

“How?” she asked innocently, but she knew. She knew quite well how he meant. 

“Let me show you,” he said huskily and drew up tight against him, lifting her so the tips of her feet slid across the floor. He pushed her up against the door and slid one hand down the length of her while staring into her eyes. 

The gentle eyes of a lover. 

(Jon had the gentle eyes of a lover, too.)

Sansa lifted her chin and Dickon took the hint and kissed her deeply. He tasted faintly of ale and Sansa wondered if he’d already broken his fast. Jon always carried mint leaves with him after she had instructed him to –

Dickon lifted her wrapper and slipped his hand underneath it. 

_This is wrong this is wrong this is wrong,_ Sansa thought and squeezed her eyes shut. _I am a married woman…_

She and Jon hadn’t been wed when he’d bedded Daenerys, but they’d still made vows to each other before he’d gotten himself trapped on Blackwater Bay by _her_. 

At the first touch of Dickon’s hand on her cunt, Sansa’s body surged as though stung. She broke their kiss, gasping and burying her face in his shoulder. 

“Did I hurt you?” he rasped. 

“No,” she croaked. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

Yes.   
No.   
Yes.  
No. 

Yes.

“No,” she whispered. _He is all that is good and kind. He is what I should have had. He is what I deserved. Father promised._

She squeezed her eyes tight as he rubbed her nub. She was tense. Too tense to even attempt to enjoy this. Now she wanted it over and she hated that she wanted it over when it had just begun and she should be enjoying it and not caring that she was betraying her vows because _her_ and _him_ and _them_ together on a boat –

“Are you close?” Dickon asked, panting as he rubbed and rubbed and rubbed. 

“Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes, yes, yes…”

His fingers left her and she dug her nails into his shoulder. _Don’t let me see what I did. Don’t show me your face_ , she thought. 

“Sansa?” he asked softly. 

“Ssshhh,” she hushed. “Ssshhhh….”

“Would you like me to leave?”

She nodded, unable to speak for all the regret in her throat. 

He let her go and she turned her head. She felt him kiss her cheek softly and then he left. 

A scratch came at her door. “Your Grace?”

It was her maid. She wiped at her eyes and opened the door. “Yes, I am ready to dress.”

“Your Grace, His Majesty asked me to fetch you. You have visitors.”

Sansa felt a bright spark of hope flare inside her. “Brienne,” she whispered. “Jaime.”

 _Finally._

**********  
Jon glared at Jaime Lannister who sat in one of the seats in the Great Hall, Brienne beside him. Jon was behind the table he and Sansa occupied during meetings. He was gripping the back of the chair Sansa usually sat in. 

Jaime just smirked at Jon. “Something wrong, Your Grace?”

“What are you doing here?” Jon asked for the second time. 

“My lady here wanted to see how Sansa was,” Jaime said, gesturing to Brienne with a soft smile. “And I just can’t seem to do without her. You know how that is, don’t you?”

Indeed, he did. And every moment without Sansa was a torment he could scarce bear. 

She’d left him last night. Left him aching for her touch, her kisses, her warm body nestled against his. He could weep all over again at the thought of it. Not even when she denied him again and again had he felt as empty as he did now. 

Had he truly killed any and all love she’d ever felt for him?

He’d fallen asleep last night with tears in his eyes and the pillow she slept on in his arms, his nose buried in it. He’d woken hard and with the same pain in his heart he’d fallen asleep with. He’d had to stop himself from seeking her out. He’d broken his fast with his people, one hand on the seat of the chair Sansa typically occupied. 

Gods, he missed his love. 

“Jaime! Brienne!”

Sansa burst into the Great Hall, beaming in a way that reminded Jon of when he’d returned home after being gone so long with Daenerys. He remembered riding in, searching for her face, needing to see her. 

When she’d greeted him, she’d worn the smile she wore now and Jon had never felt such happiness. Such a feeling of wholeness. 

They belonged to each other, he remembered thinking. 

He still thought it.

Brienne embraced her Queen in that awkward way Brienne had, and then there was Jaime. Jaime embraced her as though they were long lost friends – and Jon supposed they were in a sense. He whispered in her ear something that made Sansa laugh and Jon felt his hands itch for his sword. Jaime Lannister was a flirt, and though Jon logically knew that the other man had eyes only for Brienne, Jon still did not like him flirting with his wife. 

“I’m having your rooms prepared right now,” Sansa said, smiling at her sworn shield and the Lord she’d taken up with. “Is there anything you need?”

“Food. A bath,” Jaime said with a slight grimace. “I’m getting along in years now, Sansa. I need luxury.”

Brienne rolled her eyes and Sansa looked at her and laughed. 

“I’ll send for food,” Sansa said and departed the room. 

Jon already missed her. 

“Do stop scowling so much, Jon. I’m going to think you don’t want us here,” Jaime said to him. 

_I don’t_ , Jon thought. _Sansa and I have enough problems. We don’t need more people distracting us._

When Sansa returned with news that food was on its way, she sat at one of the tables along the far right wall and urged her friends to join her. Having no choice, Jon ambled over and sat down beside his wife. Unable to resist, he grasped her hand in his and kissed the back of it. 

Sansa looked at him in surprise and he met her gaze straight on and attempted a smile. Something flickered across her features that gave him pause. Was it regret? Shame? He couldn’t decipher it, but he couldn’t stop wondering if it had anything to do with the night before. 

What a state he was in – he wanted her to regret not allowing any real intimacy between them, but he also didn’t want her to regret it to the point that she didn’t come to his bed again. He could wear her down perhaps…? 

“There he goes again,” Jaime said, interrupting Jon’s wayward thoughts. “Brooding away.”

Jon glared at him and Jaime grinned. 

“Tell me, what brings you back to Winterfell?” Sansa asked. 

Jon tuned them out, his focus solely on Sansa’s hand in his.


	17. Chapter 17

“I need to do something to help Sansa,” Dickon announced to his brother and Gilly.

Sam looked up from his papers, and Gilly from where she was on the floor playing with Little Sam.

Sam stood from his desk littered with papers and herbs, mortars and pestles, and other things maesters busied themselves with. “Close the door,” he said sternly and gestured for Dickon to enter. Dickon had never heard his brother say anything quite so harshly, and it was a bit of a shock. He shut the door quickly after stepping fully into the room.

“You’ll do nothing,” Sam declared.

“How can you do nothing, Sam?” Dickon demanded. “I thought you liked her. She is your Queen. Are you that loyal to Jon?”

Little Sam let out a whimper and Gilly collected him up against her chest. “Please lower your voices,” she said. “He doesn’t like shouting.”

“Jon is trying,” Sam said softly and sat down. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“Is he? I heard him shouting for her last night. How is that trying? He was after her again, Sam,” Dickon argued.

“Dickon, I beg of you – stay out of it. You’ll get yourself killed.”

Dickon looked over at Gilly for help. “Gilly.”

She sighed. “I’d love to help you, Dickon.”

“Gilly,” Sam said warningly.

Gilly ignored her husband. “But I must side with Sam on this. My husband says Jon is trying and I’ve seen some progress to that end. If you do anything to come between then, Jon will kill you.”

“I’m falling in love with her,” Dickon rasped. “I don’t think I can stay out of it.”

Sam sighed and buried his face in his hands. Gilly stood with Little Sam in her arms. “Sit, Dickon,” Gilly said and Dickon sat in one of the chairs at the table the three ate at. Gilly came over and put Little Sam in his lap. “I’ll make us some tea and we’ll have a talk, hmm?”

Dickon nodded. Gilly, Dickon had learned early on, was a force to be reckoned with all on her own.

xxxxxxxxxx

Jon eventually left Sansa and their guests to attend to some builders who wanted to repair the stables, and shortly after that, Sansa took Jaime and Brienne to their rooms. Once her guests and bathed and changed, Sansa led them to a tower not oft used so they could talk privately. 

“So, tell me why I had to lie to His Royal Broodiness,” Jaime said, sitting down a chair that heaved a plume a dust into the air and creaked loudly as he tried to get comfortable. He frowned down at it and then coughed and looked at Sansa expectantly. Brienne just laughed softly and stayed standing beside a desk with an inch of dust on it. Sansa sat upon a bench, hands folded on her lap.

“I wish to leave Jon,” Sansa said without preamble. “I sent for you to help me. I want to go to Casterly Rock while I decide what to do next.”

Jaime and Brienne both frowned as they regarded her.

“Has he hurt you, Sansa?” Brienne asked softly.

Sansa did not want to cry. She was tired of the tears. Tired of everything. Even herself. (Especially herself).

“Where do I begin this tale?” Sansa mused with a bitter laugh.

“From the beginning is as good a place as any,” Jaime said.

It all came tumbling out – from the moment she found out about Jon and Daenerys to now. She left out the bits that were delicate and improper – namely Jon’s “punishments” and their couplings, but she gave enough for them to draw their own conclusions. She confessed to a flirtation with Dickon as well, not giving too much away of just all that they done, and it occurred to her that perhaps she was seeking forgiveness and understanding for it.

“So, as you see, I think it best if I leave Jon,” she said. “We will kill each other here certainly if we don’t part. I cannot get past what he did, and no matter what he does, I just end up wanting to hurt him.”

 _I’m dying inside_ , she thought. _I am dead._

“You want us to escort you to Casterly Rock,” Jaime said.

“Yes.”

Jaime shook his head. “No.”

“Jaime,” Brienne began. “Be nice.”

“I haven’t even begun yet, my dear,” Jaime drawled as he looked over at his lady love.

Brienne’s smile was soft and yet a bit tight. “No, but I know you.”

“Ah, that you do.” He looked at Sansa. “And so you know how I take pride in dealing out truths, no matter how hard they may be to hear.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes, belying her nervousness over what he was about to say. “Remember that I am Queen, Jaime,” she reminded him.

“I should never forget that, Sansa,” Jaime said, softening. He leaned forward in the chair and it let go another plume of dust. “But you won’t kill me I trust.”

Sansa did not respond. She waited.

“What you’re asking is for me and Brienne to risk our lives. If we help you leave Winterfell, do you think for one minute that Jon will let you go without a fight? He’ll come for you. He’ll send an army to get you back, and the peace between us, tenuous at best, will be ended. He’d see me as having betrayed him, Sansa, and have you thought of what the Lords in the North would do to him? Yes, he is a hero of sorts. He did help defeat the White Walkers even though I do believe I was the one who ultimately defeated them.”

“I don’t believe I’ve heard that story,” Brienne said without a trace of humor.

“Nor I,” Sansa said.

“Would you care to tell the tale, Jaime?” Brienne asked innocently.

“Wench,” Jaime chided but he did so with a smile. He looked gravely at Sansa once again. “Sansa, he is half Targaryen. You told me once how the Northern Lords turned on him while he was seeking help from the Dragon Queen against the White Walkers. Do you honestly think that those same men will allow him to live for long once they realize their Queen, a full-fledged Stark, and the remaining Stark, has fled him? They’ll kill him. Are you prepared for that?”

“They wouldn’t kill him without direction from me,” Sansa said weakly.

“Do you honestly believe that?” Jaime asked.

“Then what you’re saying is that you won’t help me at all?” Sansa demanded tersely.

Jaime sighed and shook his head. “No. I’m not saying that. Perhaps you could ask him if you could leave for a while and pay Casterly Rock a visit.”

“He won’t agree to that,” Brienne muttered.

“You don’t know that,” Jaime argued.

“Did you not hear all she told us? He won’t leave her alone!”

“No, she said that he had been dogging her every move, but that he’d stopped.” Jaime sat back and studied Sansa, making her feel on display. Making her feel like a child and not at all like the Queen she was supposed to be. “Sansa, does it bother you that he’s stopped coming after you?”

“Jaime,” Brienne hissed at the same time Sansa jumped up from the bench. She glared down at Jaime. He did not cower as she wanted him to. He met her gaze straight on.

“How dare you,” Sansa hissed at him. 

“Sansa, I know all about desperation. I know all about wanting someone so much and despising them at the same time. If you didn’t love Jon so much then what he did with Daenerys wouldn’t haunt you as it does. I am just asking you to be honest with yourself before you do something that can ruin a bunch of lives.”

“Then what would you have me do, Jaime?” Sansa asked, her voice wobbling. 

Jaime stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Tell him it’s for the good of your marriage that you take some time away,” Jaime said. “You can stay at Casterly Rock for as long as you wish, but do not leave without telling him. I’ll even make nice and talk to him if you’d like.”

Sansa laughed bitterly at that. “Yes, of all people, he’d listen to you.”

“I can try,” Brienne said, lifting her chin. “He might listen to me.”

“No. You put this in my lap, I will take care of it,” Sansa muttered.

“Sansa, we haven’t put anything in your lap,” Jaime said gently. “There’s something you’re not telling us.”

Sansa arched a brow. “And that is?”

“You’ve got that air of defensiveness about you. In my experience, that comes when you’re denying the truth of something. Am I right? Is it upsetting you that Jon is not after you all the time?”

Sansa shrugged his hand off her shoulder and glared up at him. “And when did you become the wise sage I see before me now? I remember a time when you would have done anything to get under your sister’s skirts. Including pushing my brother from a tower. And now look at you. Doling out advice. Passing judgment.”

Hurt flashed across Jaime’s face and Sansa felt a pang of regret. Jaime had long ago mended those fences with her and with Bran. To bring up the past like this was cruel to him and she knew it, but inside she was panicking. She had no recourse now. The corner she’d been backing herself into was getting closer and closer. She could feel it at her back. Any second now she’d be backed up into it.

“I pass no judgment, Your Grace,” Jaime said softly. “Who am I to speak of what one would do for love? Or what one would do to escape it?” He turned and made to leave the room, stopping only to whisper something to Brienne who nodded. And then he left.

“I didn’t meant to hurt him,” Sansa whispered as she sat back down. She was shaking.

Brienne came over and sat down beside her. “I will speak with him. Tell me what I can do, Sansa.”

“Nothing,” Sansa croaked. “As much as I hate to admit it, Jaime is right. I’m sorry for calling you here.”

“I’m not sorry you did. I’m glad to see you, and I mean it – whatever I can do to assist you, I will. You needn’t go through any of this alone.”

“Thank you,” Sansa whispered. But she knew there was nothing in truth that Brienne could do. And instead of moving forward, she felt stuck and lost and it wasn’t that she wanted to escape her marriage so much as she wanted to escape herself. 

xxxxxxxxxx

Later, when Sansa was alone in her solar, her mind racing on what her next plan should be - could she in fact tell Jon she wanted to get away for a while? Honestly, she couldn’t see him letting her go, but maybe with this new development of not having to know where she was and what she was doing every second of the day, he would. 

When the scratch came at her door, she had not heard it at first. Then she heard Sam’s urgent voice through the door and she hurried to answer it.

“Sam! How good to see you!” Sansa exclaimed, smiling at her friend.

Sam did not return her smile. Instead, he looked rather grim. “May we speak?”

“Of course! Come in.”

Sam entered, and shut the door behind him. “Sansa, you know that I respect and admire you.”

Sansa nodded, folding her hands in front of her. “I do.”

“You are my Queen.”

“Yes, Sam, I know. What is this about? You seem unhappy.”

“I am,” he said and met her eyes. She saw steel there and she was taken aback. “Sam? What is it?”

“Dickon is the only family I’ve left. I do not want him to die.”

Sansa knew where this was heading. She ducked her head. “Sam—”

“I would ask you to please leave him be. You know Jon would kill him if he knew. Please, Sansa, I cannot lose my brother.” He finished on a whisper, begging clear in his voice. And fear.

Sansa lifted her head and looked at him. “No more, Sam. I promise.”

Sam nodded. “Thank you. Good day.”

He left and Sansa felt shame threaten to pull her under. She sat down and buried her face in her hands. She was no good for anyone. She’d been playing a dangerous game and she was going to get Dickon killed and hurt Sam, and that was the very last thing she wanted. 

In an instant she knew what she had to do. 

She put on her cloak and made for the Godswood. She sat under the Weirwood Tree and and called for Bran, telling him of her new plan. 

When he whispered, Yes, on the breeze, she stood and headed for Jaime and Brienne. Brienne was with Jaime in his solar and they both stood when they saw the determined look on her face. 

“Your Grace?” Brienne said, a hint of worry in her voice. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing yet. It’s what’s going to happen,” Sansa declared. “There’s been a change of plans and I need your help again. This time though, I think you’ll find this will benefit us all. Will you listen?”

Jaime gestured to an empty chair. “By all means.”

Sansa nodded, shut the door behind her and sat. She then began to tell them of her new plan.


	18. Chapter 18

Jon could feel it; the sense that something was happening around him. He had a feeling eventually it would involve him, but for now, there were shared looks between Jaime, Brienne, and Sansa, and sense of even more disquiet with his wife. 

Something was amiss. 

And if his guess was right and there was, he wished they’d just get on with it because whatever it was, it was distracting Sansa even more so and keeping her from his bed. 

He wanted reconciliation, and his guests were getting in the way of that. Sansa was everywhere he was not, and when he finally did see her, they were surrounded. The only consolation he had was that Dickon Tarly was preparing to leave at week’s end. It was one less guest for Sansa to see to, and besides, Jon didn’t like the way the man looked at Sansa. Good riddance, was what he thought about Dickon’s departure. 

Now if only Jaime and Brienne could cut short their visit...

He was nearing his wit’s end. 

On the third day, he’d reached it. 

After hearing petitions, Jon reached out and clasped Sansa’s hand under the table. He looked at her, relaying the message that she was not to move. Surprisingly, she didn’t. Instead, she looked...resigned. As if she knew this was coming. She probably did. She knew he didn’t like put off for too long and after three days of no Sansa, he was done with it. 

His guests could go to the Seven Hells for all he cared. Everyone in the castle could. 

“I won’t leave, Jon,” she said softly. “You can let me go.”

“I don’t wish to,” he said. “I haven’t touched you in days.”

Sansa looked away from him to the back of the hall and there stood Jaime and Brienne in the door. 

“Is there anything I can help you with, Lannister?” Jon called out to Jaime irritably. 

But Jaime wasn’t looking at Jon, he was looking at Sansa. Though Jon knew that Jaime was devoted to Brienne, he didn’t like the other man looking at his wife. His hand itched for Longclaw. 

But then Jaime turned his attention to Jon and smiled that irritating smug smile that made Jon want to run him through. “Nothing at all, Your Grace.”

“Then leave us,” Jon said. 

Jaime bowed his head and Brienne followed suit. They left, closing the doors behind them. 

“What is going on in this castle behind my back?” Jon demanded of Sansa as he turned in his seat to look at her. “Don’t think I don’t see the looks or hear the whispers that stop as soon as I enter a room.”

“Are you perhaps a bit exaggerating a bit, Jon?” 

“No, I’m not,” he snapped and stood, pulling Sansa to her feet with him. He looked down at her lovely face, and felt some of his ire and frustration begin to slip away. “Sansa,” he rasped. “I’ve missed you these past few days...and nights. I am trying to be patient. I am trying to give you space, but I’ve need of my wife now.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes clear. They gave nothing away. “Would you care to accompany me to the new rooms in the South tower I’ve had cleaned up?” she asked. 

He blinked. “Is that what all the secrecy has been about?”

“In part,” she said. 

“And Jaime Lannister had to be involved in this? And Brienne? What do they care of some room that needed clearing out?”

No, something else was afoot. 

“Do you wish to accompany me or no?” 

“I’d follow you anywhere, my love,” he whispered as he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. 

Sansa’s expression remained passive, but Jon figured at least she wasn’t snapping at him. Instead, she led him by the hand from the room, up the stairs, and through the winding halls, up more and more stairs, and finally, she pulled him inside a room with her. 

It was small, smaller than their bedchamber and her private one. It held a bed, complete with fresh bedding and furs and several feather pillows. There were a few small windows, a tapestry that hung along one wall, a vanity, a wardrobe, and a table that had cheeses, fruit, and bread upon it. There was a brazier as well with a tub beside it and several pails of water beside that. 

He looked at Sansa and smiled. “Is this for us?” he asked. 

She pointed to a small door on the far side of the room. “That leads to a privy,” she said. 

“Do you plan to lock me away here?” Jon asked and tugged on the hand he still held. He wanted her closer. 

She placed her hands on his arms and looked up at him as he wrapped his arms about her. “I do not plan for you to be alone,” she said. “I will be locked in here with you.”

His brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

“Try not to kill each other.”

Jon looked up at that and found Jaime in the doorway. “What--?” Jaime smiled as he stepped out into the hall, pulling the door closed as he went. Jon heard the jangle of a key in the lock and let Sansa go to storm over to the door and try to push it open. 

He couldn’t. He jiggled the handle and it didn’t give. 

“I’ll keep watch,” Jaime said through the door. “And Brienne will see to matters of court and all that other shite. No need to worry your pretty little head over the goings on, Jon.”

“What are you doing, you idiot? Let us out of here,” Jon growled. 

Jaime didn’t respond. 

“Jon,” Sansa said. 

Jon turned and faced her. The look on her face said it all. She’d planned this. 

“Is this a punishment?” he rasped. “ _My_ punishment?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Is _this_ what all the secrecy has been about the past few days?” he demanded. 

“Yes.”

“Why is Jaime outside this door keeping guard? Why are we as far away from everyone in the castle as we could be? What is going on, Sansa?” His voice rose with every word. He had the horrible thought that mayhap she meant to kill him. 

He dismissed the thought as soon as he had it. 

She folded her hands before her and looked up at him in that calm Sansa way she had. “I had meant to leave you,” she said. 

He gaped at her. “What?”

“I had meant to leave you. That’s why I called Jaime and Brienne here to Winterfell.”

“You called for them,” Jon said slowly. 

“Yes.”

“Because you meant to leave me.”

“Yes.”

“How did you propose to do that?” he snapped, fighting the urge to grab her and shake her. 

“I was going to leave in the dark of night for Casterly Rock. I wanted them to be my guide.”

“And so what is all this?” he hissed as he gestured about the room.

Tears welled up in her eyes and Jon’s instinct was to go to her and make them stop, hold her and comfort her until they did. Instead, he clenched his fists at his sides and forced himself to stay put. 

“Jaime made me realize that if I left you, the fickle Northern Lords might see to it to end the life of their half Targaryen King.” She wiped at the tears that fell though she did not fall into a sob. “So, I came up with this plan instead.”

“And exactly what is the plan?” he asked. He gestured to the food on the table. “Is the food poisoned. Are we to perish here together?”

She looked at him in horror. “No.”

“Then?”

“Do you honestly think I would plan such a thing?”

“Sansa, why are we here, all locked up in a tower with Jaime as guard outside the door?” He was losing his patience. 

“Do you think perhaps your behavior might have warranted my wanting to kill you?” she asked and then laughed. 

“Sansa, why are we in here!” he shouted. 

Tears gone, she now glared at him. 

“Sansa? Are you well?” Jaime called through the door. 

“Do you think I would lay a hand on my wife?” Jon shouted at him, turning his head toward the door. 

Jaime didn’t answer. 

“I am well, Jaime,” Sansa called out. 

“All right then,” Jaime said. 

Jon raked a hand through his hair and then put his hands on his hips. “What is all this, Sansa?”

“This is my attempt to work out this thing between us. I can’t run away, so this is my last resort. We may very well end up killing each other in here…” She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “Aside from the preparation of this room, I saw to it that counsel meetings were to be put aside for a few days, and any petitions that needed to be heard would be heard by Brienne. Anything she cannot handle, can wait for a bit. Jaime will stand guard so we are to not be disturbed, however, I do not believe anyone will come looking for us here, but just in case…”

“And the locking of the door?” he asked, gesturing to it. “Was that truly necessary? Did you think I would not agree to fixing the rift in our marriage? Did you think I would leave?” He smiled as he started for her. She wanted to fix their marriage! How could that not make him happy?

But before he could take her in his arms as he wanted to, Sansa scurried away from him and shook her head. Jon fought the urge to grab her into his arms anyway. “This isn’t a promising start,” he muttered. 

“I locked the door because...because Dickon is not yet gone.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. “What does he have to do with anything? Why does that matter?”

“I was afraid you’d hurt him,” she said softly, watching him closely. 

“Why would I…” 

What reason would he have to harm Dickon Tarly aside from the fact that he didn’t like the way the other man looked at his wife? What else would make him want to harm him?

If the man dared to _touch_ his wife.

Jon looked at her, eyes blazing. “Tell me you did not lay with him,” he rasped. 

“I did not lay with him,” she whispered. “But I did kiss him several times. And I allowed him to touch me.”

“Where?” Jon asked, his voice strangled. 

“My womanly place,” she murmured. 

“Your cunt. He touched your cunt.”

“Yes.”

Despair wrapped its fist around his heart. Rage clouded his sight until all he saw was red. 

He rushed to the door, banging on it with all his might. “Let me out of here, you prick!” he shouted. “I’m going to kill him. Rip him apart, limb by limb, until there is nothing left!”

Jaime Lannister chose now to remain silent and for some reason that infuriated Jon more. 

“Jon,” Sansa whispered.

Jon’s sore fists fell from the door and he slowly turned toward her.

Some other man’s hands had touched his Sansa. Some other man’s lips had kissed his Sansa.

Despair gripped his heart harder. 

Jon charged her until she backed up against the wall. He slapped his open hand on the stone behind her. “How could you?” he shouted. “How could you let him touch you?”

She shoved him away from her, eyes blazing even while tears slipped down her cheeks. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” She squared her shoulders and glared at him with a mix of triumph in her eyes. “Are you wondering if he made me peak? If I love him? Desire him? Care for him?” 

“Stop!” 

He had to get away from her. He needed to kill something. 

Some _one._

Yet he couldn’t. Sansa had trapped him. His clever girl…

Tears stung his eyes and he turned away from her, not wanting her to see. He went to the table across the room and sat down hard on one of the chairs, facing the small window and the wall away from Sansa. He hunched over, burying his face in his hands. 

Sansa adjusted her skirts, and smoothed the material down. She then made her way to the bed and sat down upon it facing Jon. 

And she waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're wondering why I didn't just have Sansa wait until Dickon left the answer is because I didn't want to.  
> [](https://imgur.com/qVgGVaj)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, this chapter. It's taken me a while. I wanted to make sure I hit the right beats and get the things out they needed to. Still more to go, obviously, but this is a start at least.

“Was it revenge?” Jon asked hoarsely, ending the long silence that had filled the room like a third person. 

“At first,” Sansa replied honestly. “When I kissed him those first few times, it was about revenge and having something of my own, something that you weren’t part of.” She sighed. “But you were anyway by the sheer fact that it was revenge. And then he became what I thought I deserved.”

“What do you mean what you ‘deserved’?” Jon nearly snarled as he turned his head to the side, but not his body. 

“He was the knight I’d always wanted. Kind and brave and strong. Stalwart and true.”

“I was that knight for you,” Jon said softly. 

“Yes. Was.”

“Did he make you peak?”

“No.”

Jon snorted a bit, as if he’d known that before she’d said it. “I make you peak. I always make you peak. Me alone.” He stood and stormed over to her. He fell to his knees on the carpet at her feet. “How did he touch you?” he asked, fumbling with her skirts. “With his mouth? His hands? Both?”

Sansa bent and tried removing his hands from her. “Jon, stop.”

He looked up at her. “I want to know how!” he shouted, tears in his eyes. 

“His hands,” she said softly. 

Instead of carrying on, Jon dropped her skirts and clamored to his feet. He paced the room like a wild animal. She could feel his anger wafting off of him and it made her tense. 

He stopped, looked at her. “Why did you decide on this--” and he gestured around the room, “instead of running away?”

“Because if I ran away with Jaime and Brienne, I feared you’d kill them.”

“I would have to get you back,” he said and charged forward, leaning over her and causing her to fall back on her elbows upon the bed. He pressed his body into hers. “I’d kill anyone who stood in my way of you.”

“I know,” she whispered. There was menace in his eyes, and she met his gaze unwaveringly. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, no matter how angry he was. There was some comfort in that. 

“Just like I’ll kill him for touching you,” he whispered. 

“He’s leaving the day after tomorrow.”

“I’ll go after him.”

“Think of Sam.”

Jon pursed his lips together. “He touched you, Sansa! He put his hands on your cunt! Only I’m allowed to do that.”

“Daenerys touched you in ways only I was allowed to as well,” she said, and tears filled her eyes as she said it. “She kissed you. She touched your manhood. _You were inside her._ ”

His expression turned toward regretful and sorrowful before he straightened and put some space between them. He studied her closely. “Do you care for him at all?”

 

“I care enough to not let him die.”

“Were you falling in love with him?” His lip curled. “With your _knight_?”

“No. I wanted to, but I didn’t.” He was too good, she thought. 

“You could have kept it from me. What made you decide to tell me?”

She arched a brow. “Oh, you mean the way you kept your tryst with Daenerys from me?”

His nostrils flared. 

“I decided to tell you for a myriad of reasons, but the main one is because I felt it best to be honest. If you and I are going to come to any sort of decision about our marriage and what happens once we leave this room, then I figured you had best have the facts.” 

She got to her feet and met his gaze straight on. “And I suppose I actually have a conscience. I let him touch me and I felt guilt for what I’d done. I made vows to you and I betrayed them.” She wrung her hands together. “I thought about what my mother would say if she knew,” she said. “What father would say. How angry Ayra would be with me…”

“Ah, so it wasn’t that you had a conscience, it was what they would say and what they would think that kept you honest,” Jon said bitterly. 

“No, not entirely. I knew as soon as he put his hands on me that it was wrong. He asked if he could and I almost stopped him.”

“Almost,” he spat. “When did he touch you?”

“The morning after I tied you to your bed.”

Jon looked as though he wanted to retch. “And the first time you kissed?”

“After you admitted you liked it when Daenerys used her mouth on you.”

He looked away from her and shook his head. “I wasn’t able to stay hard,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to bed her but I could not think of any other way. She had to use her mouth so I could finish.”

Sansa blinked. She hadn’t expected that. 

He looked at her. “My body reacted to what she did, aye. But not completely. Not like you think.”

“Why did you never tell me that?”

“You never wanted to hear about her and I wanted to put it behind me. Behind us. I was ashamed for having to resort to seduction to get what I wanted - it wasn’t exactly the sort of game I wanted to play. But it was the only recourse I could think of at the time. I had to use her affection for me. Time was running out and my only thought was of keeping you and the North safe.” He rubbed his forehead and sighed. 

“Cersei did tell me once that a woman’s weapon was between her legs.” She arched a brow. “Maybe I should have never told you that.”

Any other time and under very different circumstances, they might’ve had a laugh at that, but not now. 

“Were you ever going to tell me about her?” she asked. 

“I was,” he said gravely. 

“Are you lying?”

“No,” he said. “If I had lived I would have told you.” He raked a hand through his curls. “It was selfish of me I know. I just wanted us to know happiness before I went to my possible death, Sansa. I wanted one night in your arms as your husband. Can you understand that?”

She could. She remembered that whole night she had wanted to cherish each minute, every touch and sigh and smile and laugh - it was as though she’d wanted to absorb every part of him into herself so she could conjure him up again if he’d died. 

“I--I can,” she admitted, though it was hard. “Can you understand how it ripped me apart to find out what you’d done while you were in battle?”

He nodded, tears falling from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sansa. Gods, I’m so sorry. I caused you so much pain.”

“I’ve caused you pain, too. What I did with Dickon was wrong,” she said softly. “I have wanted to hurt you a great deal, but whenever I did it only brought me pain. I hurt him, I hurt Sam, I’ve hurt you, and I’ve hurt myself. I’m tired of hurting, Jon.”

“So am I,” Jon murmured. “I hurt you and I’ve hurt Sam, too. I am a Northern fool, but I do know some things. I know how hard it has been for him to be loyal to me. I know my men have questioned my decisions. I’ve been mad; I know I have. All I’ve wanted is you and us and our home. But without you it’s not home. It’s my prison.”

“Tis mine as well.” She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. 

“I’ve smothered you,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t let you alone. I just...I couldn’t bear not having your love. The only time I felt I had it was when I was making love to you. And then you’d take it away. You kept taking it away, Sansa.”

“It was the only way I could think to hurt you as I was hurting. We are all that’s left, Jon. The only Starks alive. I suppose staying angry with you and denying you my love gave me something to focus on. Anger can keep you warm enough at night. It was better than succumbing to the grief. There has been so much war, so many battles, and so much loss. I was afraid if I gave into all of it, including your betrayal, I would be lost. Anger was easier to manage, but then it was all I became and it burned me from the inside.” She looked at him solemnly. “I’ve been mad, too.”

“We need each other, Sansa,” he whispered. “Or at least, I need you. You’re the only thing that makes sense to me in this world.”

“After all we’ve done to each other? After all the pain we’ve caused? You still think that?”

“You don’t? Isn’t that the point of locking us up in here? To fix this?”

She nodded. “Yes, to find some resolution. Whatever it might be.”

“Is there some part of you that hasn’t given up on us? Is there some part of you that still loves me?”


	20. Chapter 20

It was hard for Sansa to say it aloud. To admit what was in her heart for she had become well practiced in denying it. To admit it now to Jon would be making herself vulnerable before him. It would letting him into her heart.

(But hadn’t he been there all along?)

“If I didn’t love you still, your tryst with Daenerys would not plague me as it does,” she said. 

She hoped it was enough. She knew it was not. 

“You have to say it, Sansa,” he said hoarsely. “I need to hear it. You want honesty in this room, then give me honesty.”

She looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “I still love you,” she whispered. “I never stopped. That’s why this has been so hard.” And now, like a cup overturned, it all came spilling out. “You were my knight, the one father had promised me - someone brave and strong and kind.” She looked up at him now. “After all that I’d been through in King’s Landing and with Littlefinger and Ramsay, you were the one who gave me hope again. The one who restored my faith that there is love and kindness in the world...that not all men are cruel.   
I’d given up on the songs, but you made me believe in them and so that’s why, when you lay with her and kept it from me, you broke me, Jon. You broke my heart, you broke my trust - we have already lost so much, and then you took even more from me. You became just like the rest of them.”

“I’m not, I swear it,” he said and moved closer to her. 

“I wanted Dickon to be that knight for me, and I wanted him to claim me as you did--”

“Sansa,” he growled. 

“I wanted him to push me to my knees and take me like a wolf--”

“Sansa!”

”I wanted dirty words whispered in my ear. I wanted depraved things from him no lady should want--”

He stalked over to her, grabbed her arms and shouted, “ _Stop_! I don’t want to hear this!”

“And it was because of you that I wanted them,” she whispered. “You’ve made me depraved wanting all sorts of filthy things and I hated you for it.”

He stared down at her, eyes blazing. “I didn’t _make_ you depraved, and nothing we do together _is_ depraved. What we share when we couple is love, Sansa,” he whispered fiercely. He shoved her back, back, back to the bed and shoved her down on it. He was panting as he undid the ties on his breeches. 

She watched him as he climbed up on the bed to her and she made to push at him, but he shoved her wrists down on the bed and kissed her long and hard and deep. 

Her hands went to his hair and she dug her hands into his curls and pulled. He grunted and reached down, shoved up her skirts, and ripped away her small clothes. Sansa let go of his hair and reached down, pushing his small clothes out the way, and then...then…

He was inside her. 

He was hotter and harder inside her than he’d ever been. 

He held himself inside her and they both moaned.

He looked down at her, his eyes black, and Sansa leaned up and kissed him brutally. 

“I hate you, too,” he muttered against her lips as he began to thrust hard inside her. 

“Why should you hate me, bastard?” she spat. 

There was fury in his eyes. “For not giving me what I want. For denying me. For making me bleed again and again while you looked the other way.”

“I never did, you sod. How could I? You never let me.” She shoved at him, pushed him onto his back, and straddled him. “Did you even see my pain past your own?” she demanded as she pushed her hands into his chest and began to ride him. “Or was it you, Jon. Just your pain and what you wanted and what you needed?”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ah, so you didn’t!”

She put her hand to his throat, but didn’t squeeze. “Did you ever think about me? About what I wanted? About what I needed?”

“Yes, I did, Sansa, I swear”

“Fuck me, bastard,” she snarled. “Fuck me the way I want.”

Sansa leaned forward, and braced herself up on her hands beside his head as Jon planted his still booted feet into the bed, arched his back, and began to pound into her. Their grunts and groans punctuated the sounds of their rutting - his thighs hitting the backs of hers, her cunt wet as he stabbed into her again and again and again with his cock. 

Her eyes rolled up and she threw her head back and screamed as she peaked. Jon gripped her hips hard in his hands and after three hard thrusts, roared his release. 

Sansa rolled off of him, onto her back beside him, and for a while the only sound in the room was their panting as they came down from their peaks. 

“Did I hurt you?” Jon asked softly. 

“No. Did I hurt you?”

“Would you care if you did?” he asked with a snort. 

“Perhaps.”

He laughed then and Sansa smiled a bit. 

Jon sat up and then climbed out of the bed, righting his clothing. Sansa pushed her skirts down, but that was all at present she had the energy for. 

“I wonder,” he mused. “Will my seed take root now that you’ve no access to moon tea?”

Her gaze drifted to his. Why even bother to hide it at this point?

“Who?” he asked. “Who has been supplying it?”

“Gilly.”

His nostrils flared. “Did Sam know?”

“No. She did it behind his back.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” he murmured, shaking his head.

Sansa sighed and shut her eyes. They hadn’t been in the room long, but she was tired, exhausted really. 

Jon sat down on the bed and took off his boots. He flopped back on the bed beside her. “Perhaps we should have a nap?” He sounded weary as well. 

Sansa nodded, her body sinking into the bed. Soon, she was fast asleep. 

xxxxxxxxx

When Jon awoke it took a minute to orient himself to where he was. It was dark now, and all the candles, save one, were out. He looked over at Sansa, who slept on, and reached out to touch her only to draw it back before he could make contact. 

Looking at her now, all he could think was how Dickon had touched her. 

And all she thought about when she looked at me was Daenerys touching me, he thought miserably. And me touching her...and how I kept it from her.

Sansa stirred then and he watched her wake. She moaned and stretched her arms over her head letting out a kittenish sound from the back of her throat. Her eyes popped open and she briefly looked a bit disoriented before she turned and looked at him. 

“You’re smiling,” she said softly. 

“Am I?” he asked. 

She nodded. “You didn’t know?”

“No.” He looked up at the ceiling. “It was you probably. Watching you awaken. You probably don’t even know how much you captivated me when I first saw you at Castle Black.”

She rolled onto her side, using her arms as pillows. “Because you were happy to see a member of your family alive.”

He shook his head and glanced at her. “It was that at first, but later...later it was like I couldn’t keep my eyes from you.” He looked at her. “Anytime you were in the room I couldn’t stop watching you, couldn’t stop wanting to be close to you.”

They stared at each other in silence for a long while. 

Sansa ran her gaze over every part of his face. He was so handsome. And he looked so tired. She remembered thinking how tired he looked when she’d first saw him at Castle Black. He was a boy no longer, and she no longer a girl. They were grown and had been through much. 

“I fell in love with you so quickly I was already in the thick of it before I was even aware I’d begun,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes and she rolled over onto her other side away from him. 

She let the tears fall, thinking on how it had seemed simpler then. It was strange that it should be considering she had believed him to be her brother still at that time. Yet...he hadn’t felt like it. That’s why when they’d learned the truth, it hadn’t surprised them. They had been meant for more, they had been meant to mean more to each other. 

The path had felt so clear after that, The Night King aside. 

She felt Jon move up behind her as she wept.He buried his face in her neck and breathed her in. 

“I miss you,” she whispered. 

“I’m here, Sansa. I’m right here.”

She turned in his arms and they twined their bodies together, holding onto each other as though someone might break the door down and attempt to separate them. 

No words were spoken, and Sansa thought that this time there was no room for them here in this room, and between their pressed bodies. 

Jon’s hands curled into her thick red hair and Sansa’s twined themselves into his curls. Their gazes met and held and then Jon pressed his forehead against hers and there they stayed until they fell asleep again. 

The healing had finally begun.


	21. Chapter 21

Their hearts beat together.  
They breathed in time with each other.   
They never let one another go. 

They even awoke at the same time, staring into each other’s eyes. 

Sansa was the first to move, reaching up to touch the side of Jon’s face. His hand followed hers and rested upon the back of it as she caressed his cheek gently. His eyes shut at her touch, savoring it. Sansa had not willingly touched him like that for so long. He felt her simple caress in the whole of his body, right down to his bones. 

She leaned in and kissed him softly. Jon let her take the lead and do what she wanted. She still had free reign over him despite it all. 

_Dickon._

Jon tensed and Sansa broke the kiss. He moaned at the loss of contact and pressed his forehead to hers, shutting his eyes tight. 

How cruel was it that in the moment of softness between them, there was yet another person between them?

“You swear you don’t love him?” he asked, his voice strained. 

“I swear it. Do you swear you never loved her?”

His eyes popped open and he drew back to meet her gaze. “Never. From the moment we were reunited, everything was for you - my heart, my life, my soul - all yours. I used my body as a tool, but my heart was not engaged.” He gripped her hand and pressed it to his chest. “Feel it, Sansa. Do you feel it beat?”

“I do,” she said softly. 

“It beats for you,” he said roughly. 

She now grasped his free hand with her free one and pressed it to her heart. “And mine beats for you,” she whispered. 

Jon’s eyes welled up in tears. “Do you mean it?”

She nodded. “I love you, Jon,” she whispered hoarsely. 

Unable to wait, Jon slid closer to her and captured her mouth with his. He moved his hand to her waist and pulled her closer to him. 

“Love me?” she asked, sounding almost afraid. As if he would say no. As if he would ever say no to her and anything she wanted. 

“Love me back?” he asked softly. 

“Yes,” she whispered and kissed him. 

“Let me undress you, my love,” he murmured, running his fingers along the back of her dress. “And I want you to undress me. Will you?”

She smiled coquettishly. “Yes.”

That meant getting up off the bed. Sansa pulled him up with her and she smiled at his groan. Then she turned her back to him so he could undo the laces of her dress, and this time, Jon went slow. He pressed kisses to the back of her neck as he worked the laces. His kisses dipped lower and lower as he pulled her dress apart. 

When it sank to the floor, Jon knelt behind her and bit the globe of her arse lightly. Sansa squealed with delight and Jon surged to his feet and spun her in his arms. He grinned against her lips and then kissed her, feeling his heart swell. 

There was laughter again. Joy. And most of all, love. He could feel it this time. 

He cupped the side of her face as he gazed down at her. He ran his thumb across her lips. “My beautiful sweet girl. How I’ve missed this smile.”

She leaned up and kissed him, her hands resting gently on his chest. “May I undress you now, my lord husband?” 

He grinned. “Jon, Sansa. Just Jon. Your Jon. Forever your Jon.”

She smiled and set upon undressing him, leaving kisses on his chest, his neck, while her hands roamed to his hardened length and stroked him gently and yet firmly. 

Jon gasped as he kissed her hard. “I love you so much, Sansa.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered and tugged him with her to the bed. 

He stepped out of his trousers and followed her eagerly. His heart felt near to bursting. He was practically panting as he watched her climb upon the bed. She turned, settling down on the middle of the bed and beckoned him closer. 

“You mean it? You want me?” he rasped. “I can touch you?”

Her eyes were pained as she looked up at him. She too was thinking of that night when she took control. She nodded and reached out a hand to him. “To your heart’s content, my love.”

Jon couldn’t help it. He started to cry as he climbed up on the bed and gathered her in his arms. He didn’t want to let go. Ever. Never ever. The relief he felt as though a dam had burst, a weight had lifted. 

Sansa cradled him close in her arms and ran her fingers through his hair as he cried against her chest. “I love you, Jon,” she murmured gently. “I do love you. I never stopped. I swear it.”

He lifted his head and kissed her heatedly. 

Hands roamed and explored, reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies. Touches were gentle and loving, molding to one another’s bodies. There was the heat of passion, and the warmth of love. Their special love. 

When Jon entered her, Sansa wound her legs around his hips and rested her hands on his sides as he thrust slowly inside of her. There were tears in her eyes as they moved together. 

“Are you happy, my darling?” he whispered. 

“Yes,” she said and squeezed her inner muscles, causing him to gasp. 

Drawing his face down to hers, Sansa kissed him languidly, thrusting her tongue inside his mouth. Jon groaned and his thrusts grew faster and harder. Bracing his hands on either side of her head he lifted up, gazing down at her. “I love you, Gods, I love you so much,” he muttered. “You’re so beautiful, Sansa, my love, my sweet girl, my life…”

“Jon,” she moaned. “Kiss me.”

He obliged and when he thrust his tongue in her mouth, she grabbed his arse and pushed him into her. “I’m close,” he gasped against her mouth. 

“Me too,” she whispered. “Harder, my love, please…”

Slipping a hand down between them, Jon stroked her nub, wanting her to peak with him. “With me,” he grunted. “Please, Sansa, with me!”

Digging her head back into the bed she cried out. Her walls contracted around his cock and he let go, spilling inside her. 

He slumped against her, his face buried in her neck and she wound her arms around him as he legs fell to the bed. 

“Sansa,” he murmured. 

“Hmmm?”

“Am I crushing you?”

“No.”

He nodded, his beard tickling her a bit. “Tell me when I am.”

She sighed contentedly and began stroking his back. “I will.”

xxxxxxxxxx

The world fell away completely. At least that’s how it felt to Sansa. For the next two days they bathed together, ate together, and made love. Most importantly, they talked. The spoke of their childhood, of Ned and Catelyn, their siblings (and cousins). They spoke of the war. They wept together. They held each other. In the dead of the night they whispered the secrets of their hearts as they lay entwined, pressed against each other. 

It was no wonder they slept for hours, as if they hadn’t slept at all in years. 

By the third day, Sansa nudged Jon as they lay awake in silence side-by-side in the bed, their hands entwined. 

He looked over at her, smiling. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

She nodded, smiling back. 

Together, they prepared for the day, helping each other bathe and dress, and then they departed the room, hand-in-hand. 

Jaime looked up from where he sat upon the floor facing the door and arched a brow. “Are we done now?”

Sansa nodded and squeezed Jon’s hand before lunging at Jaime and hugging him. “Thank you, Jaime,” she murmured. 

“Of course,” he murmured back and when they parted, there was a bit of a blush on his cheeks. 

Jon took Sansa’s hand and pulled her back against him, wrapping his arms around her. He nuzzled her neck. “I’m starving, sweet girl.”

“Didn’t you have your fill last night?” Jaime asked him. He laughed uproariously at the embarrassment on Sansa’s face and the glare Jon threw his way. “If you’ll excuse me, I find I’m rather hungry myself.” He winked at the pair and then strolled away. 

Sansa turned in Jon’s arms and buried her face in his chest. “He wasn’t supposed to acknowledge the things he heard.”

“The whole castle has heard at one time or another,” Jon reminded her gently. 

“And they do not mention it,” she said stubbornly and looked up at him. 

He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

She smiled shyly and kissed him. “Feed me?”

He kissed her hard and led her down the hall, their arms wrapped tight around each other. They were, at long last, a united front once again. 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about doing an epilogue, but I also felt like this was fine for an ending. They got through it, they are healing/healed, and ready to move on. 
> 
> We can assume that they would plan a family now, and live happily ever after. In my head, Dickon finds someone else and all is well with the world, but Sam goes to visit him rather than Dickon making his way back to Winterfell. 
> 
> I might one day do an Epilogue-one shot kind of thing with their kids. I hope though, this suffices. 
> 
> Thank you for joining me along this journey of catharsis for the mess that was Season 7!


End file.
